Mass of Faith
by Vengeful Soldier
Summary: None are more devout or more fanatical than the Sororitas and none more than the Sisters of Battle among their ranks. They scour all before them that would mar human perfection, purging the xeno, heretic, and mutant with no pity with remorse. Nothing of alien origin lives where they tread, but how does one sister's faith fare when she is confronted with a world that is so wrong?
1. Chapter 1

AN: I've had this story for a little while in my head, so I decided to write the opening chapter to see how people liked it. I've had a few successful stories (but also several failed ones) so I would appreciate feedback in the form of reviews. If you guys like it, I'll continue it and expand upon it, and if not I'll take it down.

**Chapter One Penitence**

The inside of the cathedral was dim, with soft light emanating from hidden alcoves and shining radiantly off the solid gold statue off of the Emperor of mankind. His depiction stood tall at the head of the room in front of an army of collection and blessing servitors and a sea of pews. Faint echoes of prayers whispered across the room, only to rebound again in near indecipherable reverence as the lone figure in the room knelt below the idol and offered her worship. A thousand eyes of glass, stone, and precious metals watched on silently from the visages of saints and heroes, protectors and guardians of the Emperor's Imperium. In the early hours of the morning, the cast in an almost ethereal half-light, revealing only the faintest outline of the buttressed room and its holy relics.

The woman saying the Emperor's benediction was down on one knee, head bowed in reverence with the hushed prayer making it past her lips like water flowing gently over rocks in a slow moving stream. Her crimson battle robe fell loosely around her, parting to reveal ebony black armour finished to a glossy shine that gleamed where the faint light touched it. Snow white hair fell over her face in loose strands, partially obscuring the blue fleur de lys on her left cheek below the eye. The prayers came as easily and as quickly to her as breathing. She knew each of them by heart and could recite them in her sleep and she was told that she sometimes did. It didn't take conscious thought to say them, but she thought about them every time she said them. Always trying to understand the words better, trying to find new meaning and new faith in what she said. Over the years she had and the prayers and meanings had increased and meant more to her every time that she said them. Her voice was soft and lyrical, rising and falling as she prayed as if she was singing a hymn, for sometimes she broke her prayers to sing one. _Terra on High, Golden Grace, The Emperor's Mercy, Light of the Chosen,_ all but just a few hymns out of the many that she knew better than her own name. Prayer was about subservience and prostration before he on Terra. He was her lord, her master, her god, and she would serve him till the end of time.

Eyes opened to allow her the small reward of gazing upon the Emperor's benevolent visage as he gazed down on her,emerald green eyes almost hesitant to meet the effigy's own. His eyes were all knowing in his golden visage, benevolent and wise and in his hands point down was a flaming sword wrought in exquisite detail. He was the very epitome of what humanity was and what it should be. Warrior, philosopher, scientist, preacher, father, and God. He was all humanity was and all it could ever hope to be. Even in his deathless state he watched over them and kept his vast empire connected and protected against the predations of the warp, the xeno, the heretic, the mutant, and the psyker witch.

The woman's eyes were bright against her milky white skin and she finished her prayer by touching her head to the cool stone at the statue's feet. In complete and humble subservience. She rose slowly and made the sign of the aquilla as she kneeled before the effigy.

"Ave Imperator, ave Sororitas, ave Imperator," said the woman before she rose to her feet.

Celestine Sister Superior Angeline of the Order of our Matryed Lady of the Adepta Sororitas liked to think that in moments like this the Emperor devoted some of his attention, no matter how minute to her, if only for a moment. She also liked to think that he devoted some of his infinite mercy and withheld his equally infinite wrath and offered clemency for his errant children, for Angeline had failed. She was begging forgiveness from him on high, but was also equally readying herself to face his judgement and lie in the bed that she had made. Steeling herself for what was to come.

She had tried to do the best she could, had tried to bring them all back alive and do her duty. She had tried to bring the witch to justice, and she had tried to keep her blood sister alive. Her best had not been nearly enough and she had failed on all accounts. Her entire squad, dead. Her sister whom she had promised her late father to protect before he had been killed in one of the Imperium's numerous wars was dead. She had been a gentle soul, in the Hospitallier order of the Adepta Sororitas. She hadn't been a warrior, she had been a healer, one to mend wounds not create them. The witch. The vile abomination responsible for countless deaths and destruction on a grand scale had escaped. And on top of it all, Angeline's sacred duty remained undone and unfinished.

Angeline fingered her rosary, feeling the adamantine beads shift under her powered touch, each representing a success or victory or some achievement within the church, and all of them dwarfed by her most important task, and largest failure. She felt each bead and knew what each of them represented by touch alone. The one with a small dent was for her victory over an ork nob in single combat just after her induction into the order. The one that still had a rough edge where the hole had been drilled into it was for her defence and protection of a lord deacon whom had been attacked by heretics. The one that was completely smooth was for her work on Epexes in helping convert the wandering tribes to the Imperial Creed. The one that was more oval was for the protection of a wounded sister when surrounded by heretic forces. Each bead was from a lifetime of service in the Emperor's name. For 19 years she had served as a sororitas and she had accumulated a great deal of recognition in her short time of service and yet it was all dwarfed by her single greatest failure.

Angeline lamented over her failure, but was not so petty as to rail against the Emperor for her failing. This failure was hers and hers alone. The Emperor had given her the tools and the will to do his bidding, she had merely lacked the ability. Penitence and absolution would be a long, hard road to tread upon. For a failure like hers, there could be no forgiveness. For her failure had cost the blood of her comrades, her sisters, the Emperor's faithful, and only blood could pay for blood.

Angeline left the cathedral after retrieving her weapons from one of the blessing servitors after receiving her new purity seal which she attached to her armour with a seal of blood red wax. Her bolter was mag-locked to her thigh, but its receiver was locked open and its magazine slot empty. Her chainsword was affixed in its blessed sheath on her opposite hip, but its chain was bare of any teeth and its machine spirit robbed of life. She was a step away from repentia, and to her shame it was her own weakness of spirit that stopped her from renouncing her rank and life to adopt the shaved head and near suicidal role of a repentia to find atonement. It caused a hollow fear in her to gaze upon them, with their nearly naked attire and shaved heads, purity seals streaming from them like a mock astartes in a festival, and the severe aura of regret and death that clung to them. It was one of the only times that Angeline felt fear.

Angeline feared them, feared falling so far from grace that she would have to renounce all that she was and all that she could be, so she could find forgiveness. What caused Angeline's heart to quicken and her flesh to bead with sweat as she looked upon their emaciated forms was not the horrors done to the flesh, but the hollow eyed reflection of herself that she saw in them. She could imagine herself as any one of them and it terrified her as no enemy ever could. She was loyal, pious, and utterly faithful, but she feared that she would refuse to become a repentia, refuse to become what was necessary and shame herself further. She did not want repentia and had a certain fear that she would fight, curse, and beg not to be one. There were worse fates than repentia, but Angeline just could not even consider the thought of joining their ranks.

Her guards were waiting for her in the night setting glow of the cathedral's outer luminators as she crossed the threshold of the great house of worship. Clad in great Sabbat-Pattern power armour, pitiless blue eyed helms greeted her as walked back into the corridors of the great ship _Eternal Praise_, and they guided her wordlessly towards her judgement. Their power armoured boots once so reassuring, now so damning and frightening to her. Their powered steps seemed so much louder than her own, so much different than they had a few days ago.

Where had she gone wrong? She had always been faithful, always been steadfast in her devotion. Ever since the age of 11 when she had been chosen as a novitiate for the Adepta Sororitas, she had been one of the most pious and loyal. She was fierce on the battlefield and gentle off of it. She had always tried be an example of everything the sisterhood stood for and when she had fallen short, she had always confessed her sins and spent the night in solitude offering prayers to him on high. Was she just morally weak and only now was it surfacing? Had she only been putting on an act all these years, the peace that she felt merely the satisfaction of maintaining her ruse? No. She had overcome what would have broken lesser women, and she would overcome this. Or she would pay the ultimate price for her failure. Whatever came first and whatever justice the Emperor decided to mete out. She would meet her fate with dignity and grace, or at least not weep like a child when her own doom tolled for her.

When they reached the canoness's chambers, Angeline felt her knees turn to rubber despite herself, but steeled herself as her guards led her into the chambers through the large double doors, the two sisters guarding the entrance as still and silent as statues. Her guards were faithful sisters whom only days ago Angeline had called comrade and sister, but today she called them her wardens and guards, they now called her prisoner. There would be no bargaining with them, no pity, and absolutely no mercy.

The canoness sat behind a great desk of rich wood and marble in her sparse office. A few awards and holy artifacts were scattered about the room amongst the papers and reports, but for the most part it was bare metal. The canoness's snow white hair contrasting sharply with her ebony skin. Faint scars lined her face, no more than razor blade lines of scars fixed by surgery, but having grown bright and shiny with age. She regarded Angeline coolly with deep set and dark eyes that gleamed with intelligence and took in every single aspect about her, stripping her bare before her with but her eyes. Angeline had been allowed one act before her sentencing and she had chosen to spend it at prayer in the greatest cathedral on _Eternal Praise_ alone. Angeline knew that spending her one act of grace in prayer would not buy her leniency, but she had not done it for such. Perhaps it would just show that she was not beyond salvation, that she still wished to serve. Two hours were all that she had been allowed and for two hours she had waited for inspiration from the Emperor.

"Do you know why I have called you here sister superior?" asked canoness Jeanne, her voice gravelly with age, but still vibrant and strong. It almost startled Angeline to hear it, as if the canoness had simply been another devotional statue that had suddenly been given the gift of speech and it was a wonder to watch the marble lips move.

"Yes your grace, and I have come to present myself in both humility and grace," said Angeline, her voice feeling as if it would be strangled at any moment by her constricting throat. She held the need to clear it, but resisted the urge even as she felt her throat feel as if honey was starting to coat it.

"You have failed deeply and you have failed utterly in both your duties as a sororitas and as a servant of the Emperor Sister Superior. You are charged with incompetence of leadership, failure of duty, and gross negligence in service to the Imperium. You have allowed a dangerous criminal to evade capture and not only was this criminal a deviant, but a witchkin and psyker mutant outside the astra telepathica. When confronted with these charges, how do you plead sister? Do you confess or deny your crimes?"

"The evidence speaks for itself your grace, I am guilty of all that you say and have sought forgiveness from the Emperor in prayer and prayed for absolution for my transgressions."

"I need to hear you say it sister."

"Before you and with the Emperor as my judge and witness, I plead guilty to all charges levelled before me your grace. For I am guilty of all you say and wave any right I have to trial or hearing."

"You never had a right to trial and this is your hearing, as well as your sentencing," said the canoness crisply. "Your guilt is already established, this is merely a formality."

"Yes your grace, I...I know, I just thought...never mind."

"No, finish, I wish to hear what you have to say sister. If you have something to say I want you to speak your mind for this is the only chance that you will receive. I do not jest when I say this either, so if there is something that you wish to say, do so, or forever hold your peace."

"Your grace, I wish for a chance to atone for what I have done. I wish for a chance to continue to fight in the Emperor's wars of faith as a Sororitas, as a sister of battle in the Order of our Matyred Lady. I have served long and I know that if given the chance I could atone for my failing. I have many victories to my name and I have never once shown cowardice," said Angeline, her voice becoming stronger and more impassioned the more that she spoke. "For years I have given everything to the sisterhood, everything and never once have I complained or had second thoughts about any of it. I have failed yes, and I have failed greatly, but it is just one failing. One failing amongst many victories. So of you your grace, I beseech you that you give me another chance, the ability to make up for my failure through force of arms. I have always been loyal, and I have always been faithful to this order and to the Emperor," finished Angeline actually gripping the edge of the canonesse's desk.

"Do you think that your devotion and loyalty makes you special sister?" asked Jeanne quietly.

"Well..."

"If your answer is anything but no sister, I will strike you myself and lock you away for the rest of eternity. Many sisters, better women than you could ever hope to be have been condemned to die on far less than this. Women who knew nothing but devotion and faith, and whose record was free of any fault but their one condemnation. While your record is a tapestry of transgressions that have been overlooked by either sympathetic superiors or extenuating circumstances. Insubordination, refusal to follow orders, acting on your own directive, theft of ecclesiarchial equipment, and even murder. True, you were either pardoned or shown to have acted correctly on most accounts, but the fact remains that you went against the church and your superiors. You even went so far as to kill a bishop of the church, sister."

"He was a traitor and a heretic your grace. My actions have been both recognized and sanctified since that day. I did the Imperium a favour ending his life. Traitorous xeno worshipper that he was."

"Be silent!" barked Jeanne. "Did you never once think that he had been acting on order of the church? That he was supposed to be collaborating so that we could lead them to their own downfall? It may have been distasteful, but it is not up to you to decide the policy of the church. Or do you think yourself above the ruling of the church?"

With a start, Angeline understood why the canoness had willed her to speak, nearly demanding it of her. She wanted Angeline to damn herself. To bring up old wounds and reopen them, to redo battles long since won or lost. The canoness wanted her to burn, or at least damn her beyond repentance. Angeline had never liked Jeanne, and the feeling had been mutual to say the least. She respected the canoness for her devotion and past exploits, but she was too rigid, too unchanging and unable to adapt or see past the politics of the church. She didn't understand that sometimes the greatest acts of faith had to be done with haste that did not heed to the protocols that she cherished so dearly. Jeanne was also too harsh with those that simply needed to be shown the way, unable to distinguish between a heretic and those whom had merely lost their way. Not all who did not follow the Emperor were evil, just in need of guidance to show that the Emperor's way was the best way for them. Many called Angeline radical in her views and her greatest critic was her very own canoness.

"The ruling of the church is final and absolute and none are above its judgement," said Angeline weighing her words carefully. "It knows all, sees all, and judges all."

"And what of your previous criticisms of the church's dogma and its orders?"

"They...were ill advised statements that I regret deeply your grace and ones that I wish to atone for in addition to the charges laid before me."

"Sister, I want it to be perfectly clear to you that this time there is no escape from you punishment. No grateful deacon, no sympathetic commander, and no sisters to plead on your behalf. There is no way out of this for you in word or deed. You could present the church with the witch's head right now and you would still be sentenced. So, with that said, do you have anything else to add to your testimony?"

"No your grace, I would merely be wasting my breath."

"Insolent to the last," said Jeanne rising and moving to stand before her. As if by some hidden signal, the two sisters guarding the outside entered and stood behind Angeline.

"For your failing of courage, I strip you of your weapons and sigils," said Canoness Jeanne beginning the right if banishment. The sisters as Angeline's back removed her chainsword and her bolter before they removed her purity seals one by one and marks of triumph. As the canoness leaned in to remove a page of scripture on Angeline's shoulder pauldron she whispered into Angeline's ear.

"If you invoke the oath of repentia, you will still be able to serve and perhaps one day be a sister again." Despite herself, Angeline inhaled sharply at the suggestion, the air almost whistling as it filled her lungs like air going down a metal tube and she felt her heartbeat quicken. "That's what I thought," said the canoness as she removed the scripture.

"For your failure to do your duty, I strip you of your rank," said the canoness removing the icon on her armour that denoted her as a sister superior. "For your failure under the Emperor's gaze I strip you of your awards." With a deft, almost practised move, the canoness snapped the thin chain that held her beads and they pattered off of the floor like adamantine rain, save for one. That hurt the most, nineteen years of blood, sweat, and faith gone just like that. So much time, so much work and it was there rolling across the floor. Angeline was dimly aware that the sisters at her back had been repeating the canoness's words even as she said them, yet it was the canoness's voice that held her in such rapture. "And finally, for your failure of faith, I cast you out from our order and to be known as coward and excommunicatus."

Angeline struggled to keep her conflicting emotions in check as the sisters at her back began removing the pieces of her powered armour, the soft whines of their armour occasionally interrupted with the clicks and clanks of her armour clasps being undone by deft hands and the dull thuds as it struck the floor. They removed her boots as if she were but a beast, lifting her feet and not even allowing her the dignity of removing them herself like she was some kind of horse that needed its feet cleaned. Next they removed her russet robes that she wore beneath her powered armour, the soft sigh of silk on skin filled her ears as they left her bare save for her underclothes, her milk white skin almost unnaturally pale from so long of having worn the armour, almost corpse white below the neck. Faint scars decorated her body, many having been repaired in surgery, but some still remained to mark where a blade had bit her, or a round injured her. Then they stripped her bare of even her underclothes and left her bare before them and then they clad her in rough hewn and coarse garments sweat stained and abrasive. "You are no longer a sororitas Angeline, you will still serve the sisterhood, but as a servant instead of as an equal. We will not speak to you, recognize you, or break bread with you, because for all intents and purposes you are dead to us." With that, Canoness Jeanne dropped the last adamantine bead, the one that marked her as a sororitas to the ground where it bounced once, before rolling away.

After that they beat her to the ground and tied her with chains and iron collar. That was not part of the ritual, but when Angeline's fist had connected with the cannoness's face and removed a tooth, they had been forced to act. They bound her wrists together and then to her iron collar, and then her wrists to ankle restraints so that she was forced to walk hunchbacked and bowed.

"Get her out of my sight," hissed the canoness, wiping at her bloody mouth with the back of her hand. The two sororitas guards led Angeline away who seemed somehow smaller as she was forced to walk away barefoot. Not just in the physical sense of being made shorter and much narrower, but in the sense that she had seemed to have shrunk in on herself, like a child had put on its parents clothes and they hung around them like the borrowed rags they were. So was how it looked to see Angeline be led away in chains, eyes downcast, and all confidence taken from her step. Bowed, broken, and her fire extinguished, Angeline was led away, her fair falling to obscure her blue fleur de lys on her cheek. Former celestine and sister superior Angeline was led away in shame.

Through the halls of the covenants, Angeline half shuffled and was half dragged. Past the training rooms which had consumed her days. Past the shrines and great places of worship that consumed her every waking free moment and fed her fire of faith. She was led past sisters, women whom she had served with for years both on the field of battle and off. Women whom she had broken bread with and shared her most intimate secrets with and her theirs. Now they even refused to look at her, as if she was broken, dirty, faithless. It was almost too much to bear, almost too much to live with.

She was taken through the halls of her youth and past the rooms that had housed her now departed sisters. She was not allowed to take anything from her quarters, it would be taken and burned or given away as charity or picked through by the other sisters like vultures, the same sisters that she would now serve till the end of her days, and beyond when she was finally made into a servitor.

They took her to the very lowest recesses of the ship, the very darkest and the very coldest dankest pits of the ship. This was where they kept those who had committed great crimes and who were to be purified through pain or serve until their dying days. Below even the serf caste that served on the ship to see to the sisters' every need and want. The floor down here was hard and sharp rocks that cut at Angeline's feet and soon there were bloody footprints were she stepped. She refused to cry out in pain, but if her feet were ruined then she would be unable to fulfil her new duties. It seemed that the sororitas had though of that and soon they were on smooth metal again. It hadn't been a very long stretch of floor, just enough to get the point across. You had no power, you were repenting, every step would bring you pain for only through pain could you be purified.

There were lines of scripture written on the walls, all of penance and of pleads for salvation through work and duty. It was dim and gloomy down in the depths of the ship and not just because it was the night cycle. It was like a physical and oppressive weight upon Angeline's soul and she felt the force of it on her. She would live in the dark so that when she did her duties she would see the glory of the light. Angeline was only dimly aware of the reasons behind everything that she saw and heard, having learned about it in detail as a novitiate. All that she felt from the depths of her soul to her heights of fate was the crushing weight of failure and shame. It was all consuming in its intensity and it all still seemed so unreal. The sharp pain in her feet was like a dull ache in comparison. It felt like someone had taken her heart and put it in a vice and taken her stomach and was shaking it. Angeline felt the need to cry, but the tears would not fall, some part of her still refused to let her cry even now.

Her new home had an iron door with a narrow viewing slit that could be opened on the jailors whim. She was unchained and unceremoniously thrown into the bare cell. She landed heavily, but caught herself. The door behind her shut with a resounding clang with the sound of the lock being turned. There was no bed in her new home, no place to rest her head, no creature comforts in the bare cell save a bucket for her needs and a metal bowl filled with water like she was some kind of animal. Angeline felt her despair consume her and yet she still did not cry.

She heard the moans and screams of the others in the cells next to hers. They ranted and raved, the sounds carried by the pipes that travelled through the cells. They didn't carry sound well enough to carry words and they were too far out of reach to tap to send messages. Angeline covered her ears with hands and tried to blot out the sounds of the mad prisoners. It didn't end. She shut her eyes and rocked back and forth, eventually screaming to try and blot out the madness. She didn't know how many days she stayed like that, in the dark, eyes hardly open, barely eating or sleeping. She didn't know how many days it took before she had begun screaming to try and blot out the noise, just that it had already been far too long. It seemed that the sororitas had no use for her after all and were merely content to let her rot. She didn't know what had made her open her eyes and stare at the walls of her cell, just that she was grateful that she did.

Amidst the mad scribbling of prisoners gone insane and fingernail marks that had somehow made marks on the metal walls, was an Imperial Aquilla untouched and unmarred. Her eyes so accustomed to the dark easily able to distinguish it from amongst the lighter coloured metal of her cell. She scrambled to it, like a starving man crawls towards a morsel of food as fast as he is able. Angeline sat back on her heels and simply stared reverently at the aquilla above her. She crossed her hands on her breast and made the sign of the aquilla, mimicking the icon above her.

"I will always be faithful to you, and I will always serve in whatever way you decree. I pray that you give me the strength to see through my new task for I am lacking the strength. I am your sword and your shield, your righteous wrath and infinite mercy. Act through me and if I am found wanting may those better than me take me. Forgive my weakness and fill with your fortitude. For your eternal glory I pray. Ave Imperator, ave Sororitas, ave Imperator" said Angeline solemnly and closed her eyes. A single tear fell then, not out of self pity and shame, but devotion.

"So how is it that I can assist you my lord?" asked the sororitas guide to the inquisitor at her side. The man at her side was dressed in regal clothes of nobility, a forest green jacket with a fur collar covered up fine clothes of fine make and regalia. He wore a hat on his head that had a blue feather stuck in the side and on his legs he wore brown leather knee high riding boots. A stub weapon of fine make and decorated with ivory and filigree fit hung snugly in a holster at his hip. A rapier either mono-edged or power weapon hung on his other hip and swayed slightly as he walked. He was handsome in a roguish kind of way with brown hair and hazel eyes. One corner of his mouth was quirked up as if he had just heard a moderately funny joke and at his back were two retainers dressed in matching black armoured body gloves complete with helmets and masks. They were each equipped with a hell carbine that they currently had slung on their shoulders. They maintained a distance of four paces behind the inquisitor, never more and never less.

"Well, you could say that I'm in the market for some hired help," said the inquisitor the edge of his mouth turning up in even more of a smile. "My current companions are good for shooting down heretics, but I'm afraid that they just aren't much for conversation. Isn't that right men?"

"We are here to serve lord, and do as you command," answered on of the black armoured retainers.

"See what I mean? Completely lacking any kind of personality, though I guess that's too be expected from the kind of cult that they're from. What was it again?" he asked turning his head to the black armoured retainers.

"The Emperor's watch," said the other black armoured retainer.

"Oh, you disapprove sister?" asked the inquisitor seeing the way that the sister's face twitched as they said the name.

"It is not my place to judge lord," said the sororitas.

"No, but you don't like the name do you?"

"That is not my place to say lord."

"You're very well disciplined sister, I admire that in a woman. What would you say to joining an inquisitor's retinue?" The proposal seemed to catch the sister off guard, but she answered neutrally.

"I would wish to stay with the order, but if you decided to invoke your right and forcibly recruit me..."

"Don't worry sister, I don't like recruiting unwilling followers, makes me wonder who they're going to shoot. The enemy, or me. I wouldn't want you putting a bolt round between my shoulder blades because you didn't want to follow me around."

"My lord, I would never even consider doing such a-"

"Relax sister, I was merely exercising my sense of humour, as old and rusty as it is. Problem with getting old I guess, I get a little out of touch."

"I see my lord, the canoness is right this way."

"Eager to be rid of me sister?"

"Of course not lord, I would never do something so base."

"Of course you wouldn't dear," said the inquisitor, the half smile on his lips. "Let's go meet this canoness of yours."

The canoness was seated behind her desk when the inquisitor was shown into her office, his retinue waiting outside, leaving just himself and the canoness in the room. The inquisitor bowed at the waist and removed his hat, before replacing it with a flourish.

"Inquisitor Nyxos of the Ordo Xenos at you disposal madam, and eager to please."

"Well met inquisitor, would you care for a seat?" asked Canoness Jeanne gesturing to an empty plush upholstered chair in front of her desk."

"Why thank you canoness," said Nyxos taking a seat in the chair and setting his feet up on the canoness's desk. He leaned back and put his arms behind his head, the ever present half smile still on his face. "Your hospitality is most appreciated."

"I'm sure it is," said Jeanne dryly. "I see that your reputation precedes you inquisitor, among other things."

"Oh does it? I do hope that it is nice things that people have been saying about me, oft as not they are simply cruel in their accusations. Did you know that some have gone so far as to call me uncouth and rude? I mean really, the gall of some people." The chair creaked as the inquisitor adjusted himself to become more comfortable and he sank deeper into the plush upholstery.

"I can not imagine why," said Jeanne clasping her hands before her and leaning forwards on her desk.

"May I enquire as to the reason that such as illustrious official from the Ordo Xenos has decided to grace my simple convent ship? We have little of value here that would interest an inquisitor, especially of the Ordo Xenos. All we have on this ship is Imperial consecrated tech, human artifacts of the church, and our faith."

"I will admit that you don't really have anything of value on this ship canoness, but unfortunately I happen to find myself short staffed at the moment and in desperate need of new blood. I do not have time to recruit new retinue members as I would normally do. It's really by chance that I happened upon your ship and I was wondering if you would happen to have anyone who would be interested in traipsing around the galaxy with an inquisitor. So, do you have any who would be interested in serving at my side?

The canoness's jaw tightened and her lips pressed into a thin line at the inquisitors words and she took a moment before she answered him.

"You are welcome to ask the sisters, but if you intend to try and recruit any forcibly..."

"Don't worry my dear canoness, I would never dream of taking any of your sisters without your and their consent. Unless I really wanted too of course, I am an inquisitor after all."

"Shall we begin your search then inquisitor?" asked Jeanne rising from her chair, her tone hard. "I would hate to delay your departure to your important task any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Oh, so mean Canoness, and what did I ever do to earn this angry tone from you?" asked Nyxos swinging his feet off the desk and rising into a long stretch, with a grin that threatened to split his face. "I didn't happen to come at the time of red tide did I?"

"You disrespectful piece of-"

Ah, ah, ah, canoness, I'm still an inquisitor remember?"

"Of course, lord. Please forgive my lapse in judgement and good grace. Where would you like to begin your search? If you wish to, I could arrange interviews with the sisters and you could ask them if they would like to join your party."

"As fun as that would be, it really wouldn't be any," said Nyxos dismissively. "I am in need of bulk followers, the kind that I can throw at the enemy in droves and not care if they die or not. I mean, a few to have a polite conversation with would be nice, but I really just need fodder."

"You came to recruit my sisters to send to their deaths?" asked Jeanne, her tone icy and hard.

"Now that's just rude. I mean it's not a foregone conclusion that they're going to die, just very likely," responded Nyxos. "Has something that I've said upset you sister, or are you merely staying silent out of respect?"

"Inquisitor, I believe that I have the perfect recruits for you. You don't care who they are right? So long as they can fight?"

"That's basically right sister, yes. You're not going to pawn off your novitiates on me are you? I mean, I'll take them, but I would much rather prefer full grown recruits if you don't mind.

"Inquisitor Nyxos, let me be the first to tell you that I have never nor will ever offer or try to pawn off any of my novitiates onto you. Now, you said you wanted warm bodies?"

"Are you offering Canoness? I mean it would be indecent to do it here."

"Inquisitor, please follow me. I'll give you all the followers you could ever possibly need," said Jeanne, her smile fake, but unbroken.

"No I don't think you could Canoness. I'm always in need of new followers. They have this entirely nasty habit of dying on me. Now please, lead the way."

The screams, moans, and sobs of the prisoners as they were brought out echoed off of the dark metal walls and floors. Sisters in their black powered armour and red battle cloaks dragged the human wreckage into the hallways for inspection. Some were too sick to stand, others were already on deaths door, but the vast majority, while not in possession of their mind, were still strong of body. Hymns sounded as the prisoners were marched down the corridors, mad gibbering and howls coming from the prisoners as they marched. Men and women who had disgraced themselves or committed a grave act against the church or the Sororitas. Murderers, rapists, vile heathens, the lowest of the low. Now though, they were being given a chance to serve again.

Clad in rough garments of cheap material, their unwashed bodies moved to the beat of the hymns, each step a plodding move that threatened to upset them. They blinked dumbly as their light deprived eyes came into contact with the dim lumo globes set into the ceiling as they were moved into the sentencing chambers. Their automatic response was to mill and wander, but their Sororitas guards beat them back into line and kept them in place through fear and threats, in equal measure with cajoling and faith. Some tried to make an escape and were given forgiveness early, and others just stared at the walls dumbly in front of them. The statues saints looking down with omnipresent judgement upon them. Their diamond eyes all knowing and all seeing.

This room was built of white marble, originally spotless, now marred by the dirty bodies of the prisoners standing in it. The once glistening and waxed marble floor, now covered in dirt, old sweat, human grease, and now blood and bits of human matter. Servitors moved on treads or spindly legs and tried vainly to clean the ever growing mess caused by the mass of humanity in the wide chambers. And moving among the rows, almost with apathetic disregard for his safety, was Inquisitor Nyxos.

"This one looks healthy enough," said Nyxos cupping the jaw of one of the prisoners. He pulled his hand back as the man tried to bite him and then received a strike from a stun baton. After that he stood obediently staring ahead, a line of drool coming out of his mouth." Nyxos sighed.

"We'll have to augment them obviously," said Nyxos offhandedly as they moved among the rows to Canoness Jeanne, Nyxos inspecting them like cattle, lifting up a foot here, checking teeth there. "Fix them with stim injectors and hormone enhancers, along with neural impulse wires to quicken reflex speed. Pain suppressors, muscle growth hormones, and good old fashioned psychic manipulation should make them the ideal fodder. I still can't decide though whether to graft their weapons to them, or simply have them use small arms. There's versatility in having them use regular weapons, but graft weapons can be so much more powerful and of a much higher calibre. Not to mention if I were to replace their eyes with targeting sensors. What's your opinion on this Canaoness?"

"You may do whatever you wish to them once you leave this ship Inquisitor. I have no interest in what happens to them after they leave this ship, or while they are on it for that matter."

"Are you absolutely positive that you don't have any of your sisters that would wish to join me? I mean I appreciate the bulk, but I want the quality too. I do so very much admire the fighting spirit of a sororitas. Their discipline, their devotion, bravery, and their willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice for the cause."

"I regretfully inform you that all Sororitas have respectfully and humbly declined your generous offer inquisitor. Though with grace and humility they have expressed their wish for you to succeed in whichever endeavour you take upon yourself and for the Emperor himself to bless you in your quest."

"They did all that in only four three hours Canoness? I must say your sisters are as speedy with their replies as they are with their prayers. I dare say that they could take over for the munitorium and have the Imperium running like clockwork and everything would be just so with its little prayer sticker on the side."

"My sisters are indeed quick in their replies," said Canoness Jeanne. She met Nyxos's eyes and both knew that Jeanne was lying to him and that she hadn't even bothered to pose the question. Still, a few hundred prisoners turned to stim wired killers was never something to turn down, especially when time was of the essence for him.

"I fear that I will have to make due with this then I suppose," said Nyxos running his eyes over another prisoner. "Tell me though, are there any others in your dungeons that you have yet to bring out? Any criminals whose crimes are too great to be brought out or those who have mad you personally angry? I mean I need absolutely every able body that I can get and I wouldn't mind sending them charging off into suicidal odds."

"There are a few left in the dungeons, but they will be brought up in due time Inquisitor. We have only so many sisters with which we can bring them up with. In another hour or two we will have them all up."

"May I go see those still in the dungeons? These lot bore me," said Nyxos, sidestepping a prisoner who had fallen over and was convulsing with a seizure. "Really bore me."

"If you wish we could inspect them," said Jeanne slowly. "But I wouldn't recommend it. It isn't pleasant in the lower reaches of the dungeons. The screams and moans travel far down their so that they may all share in each others pain and suffering so that they may pay for their sins. It is very unpleasant down there."

"My dear sweet Canoness," said Nyxos, his half smile ever present as he cocked his head at her. "I deal exclusively with unpleasant things. Ladies first though, I do believe."

"As you wish Inquisitor," said Jeanne summoning several of her sisters to take them down. "But I would advise you to change you shoes."

"Hm, why?"

"I wouldn't want such nice leather to be ruined, because where we're going, anything less than ceramite gets torn."

True to the Canonesse's words, it was very unpleasant in the lowest reaches of the ship's dungeons. The screams and moans of the anguished travelled far and the only light was that given off by blackout lights, whose glow never reached the cells and made walking through the halls tracherous.

Wet, slippery black metal flooring threatened to take Nyxos's footing from his more than once and the wails coming from the cells were near ear-splitting. Had his heart not turned to stone long ago, Nyxos might have felt pity for these poor human wretches.

As it was though, he strode down the halls purposefully, hands clasped behind his back as he effected the air of a perspective buyer. He looked into a few cells, but for the most part merely kept his pace like he was going for a pleasant evening walk. Not seeming perturbed or bothered in the least by the sounds of human suffering around him.

"Are you sure that this is all you have? These ones are even worse than the ones above us. They're absolutely mad. Great job by the way. I must say that I do admire a job well done, I doubt that I could have managed a better job of it. Using their natural fear of the dark and the unknown. Good on that," said Nyxos with professional approval.

"If you do not find any that you wish to recruit as they are, you may still take them to make into a servitor-soldier," said Canoness Jeanne.

"Oh I fully intend too," said Nyxos curtly. "It's just that I wanted one with some intelligence, not just some damned organic machine to send into the fray. I like ones who can think for themselves, who can improvise, create, adapt, innovate, and actually have some bit of a personality." Nyxos sighed in frustration. "Let's go back up, I'm done here."

"As you wish Inquisitor," said Jeanne politely. "Please follow me inquisitor and watch your step."

"Yes, yes," said Nyxos with a bored expression. Suddenly though, his head jerked up and he cocked an ear. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what Inquisitor?"

"It's not screaming or the wailing that these wretches are doing. No, it's something else," said Nyxos taking off by himself, head twisting both ways at an intersecting hallway before heading off down another black metal corridor. Reluctantly, Jeanne, her sisters, and the Inquisitor's bodyguards followed Nyxos as he took off further into the dungeons, following whatever sound he had heard.

Nyxos twisted his head this way and that, trying to pinpoint the sound. It was different than the wailing and screaming so prevalent. It was melodic, soft, and almost sounded like, singing. The closer he got to the source of the sound, the less sounds of torment he heard, and the clearer the voice became. His leather scuffing against the metal as he came up short and switched directions down a side corridor again. Going deeper into the dungeon where there was not even light from the blackout lumo globes, and Nyxos had to rely on his augmented eyes to see where he was going.

Scriptures of penance and fortitude lined the wall, scrawled in long and flowing High Gothic script. They lined the walls along with the names of those who had found forgiveness and atonement through pain. They numbered in the thousands, stacked from floor to ceiling. Jagged rocks grabbed at the soft leather of his boots, but Nyxos hardly even noticed.

Now it was quiet here, save for that voice. Looking in a few of the cells, Nyxos noticed that the prisoners in them looked oddly...peaceful. They didn't rant or rave, claw at their faces or weep bitterly. If anything they looked happy, listening to the voice that kept singing sweet sounding melodies, soothing the minds of those condemned to rot in the deep holds, and perish in the dark. What crime could one have committed to be sent so far down where only the worst were sent to pay for their sins.

Finally Nyxos came to the door where the singing was coming from. Not having a key, Nyxos took out his powersword and with a flourish, sliced clean through the lock before sheathing his blade and opening the heavy door. He was surprised by what he saw.

In the centre of the room, on her knees and resting on her heels, was a woman. Her hair was getting long and unkempt. Dirty, yet white. The roots were showing through in her hair though, a deep auburn in colour. She smelled as all the prisoners did, unwashed and uncared for, but her emerald green eyes showed not madness, but fervour and devotion. They were fixed straight ahead at the wall in front her her, her hands on her hips. Her soft lips forming the different soothing sounds of the song that she was singing. A blue fleur de lys underneath her left eye showed that she was, or had been a Sororitas. She was beautiful.

Nyxos's usually confident and cocky stride, became subdued and quiet as he approached the singing woman. She took no notice of him, just staring straight at the wall ahead of her. A black aquilla stealing every iota of her attention. Nyxos knelt down next to her and waited for her to notice him. It didn't take long. Slowly the sweet chorus faded and she stared at him, her Emerald gaze unwavering. She looked gaunt and underfed, bruising was prevalent all over her body from beating, yet she still looked strong. A fiery will and strength trapped inside an atrophying body.

"What is your name?" asked Nyxos, brushing a strand of dirty white hair away from her eyes.

"My name is Angeline. Former Sister Superior Elohime of the Celestians. Why have you come here?" asked the woman curiously. No accusation or scorn in her voice, no pleading or begging. Simple willingness to just understand.

"I've come to take you away from here if you wish, I would like you to come with me."

"You want to take me with you?" asked Angeline curiously. Nyxos was lost in her emerald eyes. "Will I be able to serve the Emperor still?"

"As an inquisitor I serve the Emperor directly. If you were to join me, you would serve him more faithfully than any sister on this ship. You could fight in his name, help the faithful and punish the wicked. You would sleep well at night knowing that the Emperor himself smiled on you and your actions. You will bring his faith to the masses of humanity and all will know his glory."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Doesn't it? So please, will you leave this terrible place and serve the Emperor by my side? I formally request that you serve me as a member of the holy ordos and help me to do battle against any and all who would think to rise against the Emperor's might. Do you accept?"

"Yes. Can we leave now? I don't like the dark."

"With me, you'll never have to see the dark again," said Nyxos taking one of her dainty but calloused and muscled hands in his. She made a noise of pain as she tried to stand and Nyxos noticed how badly cut her feet were, weeping a yellowish fluid. He felt a black anger rise in him, but also a fierce kind of protectiveness. "Here, let me help you," said Nyxos putting an arm underneath her knees and behind her back, lifting her up. Her being so close to him set his pulse ablaze in ways in hadn't been in years.

He carried her out into the hall just as the Canoness and his retinue caught up with him. They stopped short of him and the Canoness's mouth set into a hard line.

"You don't want her lord, she's a troubled one."

"I imagine that I would be too after being locked in this place for so long," said Nyxos. "She's the only one I've met with even a shred of sanity left in her. I can only imagine the strength of one that it would take to remain whole while down here."

"She was put down here, because she was broken," said Jeanne.

"Broken, or discarded Canoness? There is a very clear difference Canoness and I can't imagine her ever turning against the light from him on Terra."

"She has had other failings, many failings," said Jeanne. "The most recent of which was the escape of a powerful wych psyker and the loss of her entire squad through incompetence. Even now I have already received reports of him wreaking havoc and death against all those who are unfortunate to fall into his path. You don't even know this woman, how do you know what she's like? What she's done."

"Angeline. Her name is Angeline," said Nyxos firmly.

"Lord, you can't simply pardon one because they have a pretty face. The deaths of her entire squad hang over her head and countless reprimands and disciplinary actions and insubordination. Stop cowering in his arms harlot! You're going straight back to your cage, don't think that you can pretend to be afraid and slink out of here."

"Did you never think that in addition to scarring her body, you scarred her mind as well?" asked Nyxos. "It is an amazing act of bravery to not simply be raving mad and lost all semblance of humanity. I have no doubt that because of this she will always have daemons in her mind, subtle, but they will be there. I am taking her Canoness. If you wish her to repent, she will do so in my service and she will do it with a bolter in her hands and clothed in the finest armour of the Sororitas. By the way, I'll be raiding your armoury for equipment properly befitting a Sororitas that belongs to an Inquisitor's retinue. I sincerely hope that you do not mind."

"She will not leave here," said Jeanne firmly.

"Oh really? Try to stop me," said Nyxos pushing past her, his two silent guards falling into step behind him. His soft leather boots echoed as he walked and as he moved with Angeline, dirty and grimy hands reached out from the bars of the other cells as much as they were able, as if reaching out for Angeline, imploring her to stay. As she passed their cells, the moans and wails began anew as the last light left their presence and they were left in the dark again.

Angeline was once more garbed in her russet robes, but this time she was aboard Inquisitor Nyxos's personal cruiser _Herald. _The inquisitor had grabbed enough supplies from the sororitas armouries to outfit ten women, having even taken one of the prized power swords that the convent held. Three weeks had already gone by, but it still felt like everything was just a dream. Like she was still trapped in that dark and dank dungeon, offering her prayers to the Emperor for deliverance, before simply singing to while away the time.

Her feet had been infected and been treated my medicae so that she could now walk and run on her own. She could fight too. She had trained relentlessly to get back into proper fighting form and prayed just as much to offer thanks for her salvation. The Emperor had heard her, taken pity upon her, and given her a chance to do great things in his name. It was humbling and it still brought feelings of deep joy and elation to her to think of it. Angeline fingered a rosary of adamantine beads in her hand as she prayed. It was much smaller than hers had been, but even this wasn't hers, it was her sisters. Angeline finished her prayers to the Emperor, not for herself, but for him to watch over her sister and keep her safe in the afterlife.

"Ego pro gloria vestra, ut custodiant te in omnibus nobis, et dimmittet liberos. Quia peccavimus. Deum magnum, Amen," finished Angeline rising from her prayers in her own private cabin. Incense burners sent sweet smelling smoke into her room swirling around the small room and mingling with the soft silken drapes placed around the room and dominating the entire centre of her room was a shrine to the Emperor. A simple stone effigy with an aquilla, wings spread out challengingly behind it. The Emperor looked serene in this depiction, happy and content, but ready for conflict and ready to defend humanity against any threat. Angeline bowed to the statue, before blowing out the candles assembled around it.

Her hair had been redyed a brilliant white and cut to jaw length to fit inside her helmet. She left a couple of candles burning though to provide light. It shamed her to think of it, but she couldn't stand to sleep in the dark. It reminded her too much of her time in the prison and she couldn't bear it. She would become nervous and sweaty until she either got up and moved around or turned on a light. She prayed for deliverance, but the Emperor would aid only those who made an effort to help themselves.

So like a child, Angeline crawled into her bed with the light on to keep the monsters that had found a home in her mind. Her blue fleur de lys facing up as she sought to find sleep, a holy bolter not far from where she lay. A knock at her door caused Angeline to rise and when she opened the door, Inquisitor Nyxos was standing there in simple evening clothes. Black leather shoes and simple black and green pants and shirts. A sword was on his hit, and he wore a hat with only a single short feather in the side.

"Yes my lord?" asked Angeline bowing at the waist.

"I didn't wake you up did I?"

"No lord, I was still awake," answered Angeline. "What do you wish of me?"

"I would like to show you something, would you like to come and see it?"

"Of course, just give me a moment please lord."

"Just Nyxos if you could," said Nyxos kindly.

"Of course Nyxos, I will be out shortly."

"I'll be waiting," said Nyxos stepping out of the room.

Angeline made herself ready quickly, throwing on a pair of boots and making sure that her clothes were clean and befitting a sororitas. Leaving her room, she fell in step beside Nyxos.

"I have been rude to you I think," said Nyxos at length.

"Of course not, you have been nothing but courteous and polite since you took me into your service and I am still grateful for it."

"True, yet I have not told you the purpose of my mission, our mission now. I have simply been expecting you to follow along and do what I have asked without question."

"I have faith, that is all I need. I do not need to know the cause of my mission, simply be pointed and let fly against those who would attempt to impede you."

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to what we're going to be doing?"

"An open mind is like a fortress with its drawbridge down and gates unbarred," said Angeline.

"Platitudes aside, aren't you the least bit curious?"

"I admit that I have wondered, but it was not my place to ask. I thought that if you ever wished to tell me you would do so at a time that you found convenient."

"Well than I guess that this would be that time then, wouldn't it?"

"I believe that it would," agreed Angeline. She followed Nyxos up a lift to the viewing spire and into a room with many couches, a minibar, and a great armoured and shuttered window.

"This is what we've come all this way to deal with," said Nyxos clicking a remote and with a hum of moving machinery, the armoured shutters rolled back, revealing the endless void before them. What Angeline saw took her breath away and made her clutch her aquilla pendant in a mixture of outrage and need for reassurance.

It was a station of xeno origin, for no structure could have been wrought by human hands. Giant spinning concentric rings contained a ball of golden energy. It was too smooth, too inhumanly organic with no weld lines or bolts or rivets. Not even the seamless production of the mechanicus could match such a construction. It looked very much like a giant tuning fork and it was very large. Bigger than even the kilometre long _Herald _that they now travelled on.

"We found it a few years ago, quite by accident in fact," said Nyxos. "We don't know what powers it, though the mechanicus have said that it's an element that they've never encountered before and gives off great amounts of power for such little amounts. They've discovered that it's like a slingshot, able to send ships through it and impossible distances in a mere heartbeat."

"We should not use it. It is xenos work and we have no idea what it could do or what it could lead back to us."

"No we don't, that's why we have to figure out what's on the other side so that if it's dangerous we can destroy it. Maybe even deal a crippling blow to a xeno empire. There could be a threat on the other side and if there is we need to destroy it."

"Then we should just destroy the station," said Angeline.

"What if this is our only chance to find out if and what kind of foe awaits us on the other side? What if when we destroy this station and they fall upon us when we're unprepared? No, we have to have the upper hand in this."

"What are we going to send through?" asked Angeline.

"Why, we're going to be going through," said Nyxos with his ever present half smile. "We're going through tomorrow, just thought that I owed you enough to let you know. Do you still want to come with me, or are you having second thoughts now?" Angeline breathed deeply and shut her eyes in contemplation.

"If I shrank away from a task simply because I did not like it, I would have make a terrible Sororitas. I will come with you Nyxos and see what lies at the other side of this heathen portal. If we do indeed find something dangerous, I'll crush it beneath my boots and scour it with holy flame."

"That's what I like to hear," said Nyxos, his smile widening.

AN: Well thanks for reading and be sure to drop a review so that I know how I'm doing. Next chapter will be in the Mass Effect verse, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two Leap of Faith**

With clacks and hisses, the Crusader Sabbat Pattern power armour came into place, one piece at a time. Holy oils had lubricated and blessed the spirit of the machine, with purity seals and icons of devotion blessed the spirit of the woman inside. Prayers of activation, strength, function, and faith made their way past Angeline's lips as she put on each piece of her armour separately, each piece glistening in the light of the armoury aboard _Herald_. After her armour was in place, Angeline went to the weapons rack. She took a holy bolter with a purity seal held in place on either side with red wax of the weapon. She mag locked it to her thigh after she had loaded it and aimed down the sights. Next she grabbed her chainsword, anointing the blade with holy oils and offering a prayer to its machine spirit for safe function and to lend her its skill in battle. The mono edged weapon went into the scabbard on her opposite hip.

Doing things like this reminded Angeline of her time with her old squad. Her sisters in name, and all but blood. She had done this ritual literally thousands of times before, but always with a contingent of sisters around her. All saying their pre-battle hymns and quiet looks of understanding and reaffirmations of faith amongst them. They had know their duty then, known it better than they had known themselves. The world had been clear then. Clear, pristine, and well defined in straight lines of faith, duty, and honour and it that order. There had been no room for doubt in that world. Everything had been black and white. There had been no grey area, no place for errant thoughts to question, no place for there to be any reason to second guess what they were doing or why. Now though, things weren't nearly as clear.

Despite her outward demeanour and prodigious skill as a warrior, Angeline was a woman with a kind heart and deep love for her friends and comrades. Some would have even said too deep, for she had disobeyed orders more than once to come to their aid. So it was with all her heart, that Angeline felt gratitude towards Nyxos for rescuing her from her prison. For renewing her purpose in life and for giving her a way to continue to make herself useful to the Emperor and the Imperium. She was grateful to Nyxos for what he had done, but was also wary of him.

He was an inquisitor. A manifestation of the Emperor's very will itself and his authority was next to none in the Imperium, only other inquisitors able to question him. Yet, Angeline felt a naggling reservation about what he was doing. Experimenting with xeno technology, using said technology, and without the blessing of the church either. Who knew what horrors they could find on the other side? What if the construct was corrupted and using it fed the ruinous powers with their souls, or corrupted them to do their bidding? Angeline shuddered at the thought.

She had fought daemons before, seen the depths of their depravity and malice. Knew their horror and had fought them with holy bolter, cleansing fire, and unyielding faith. When fighting against things such as the ruinous powers, there could be no doubt. There could be no hesitation, no reservation. Such things gave the creatures of the warp a handhold upon ones soul and a path to corruption. Love of the Emperor shielded a Sororitas's soul and as long as she kept her faith, she would be immune to all before her. That was why she felt such trepidation going through with this. She did have doubt, she did have reservation, she did wonder as to why they had to do this. But she would not shirk from her sacred duty, she would fight and would sing praises for the Emperor until her dying breath and afterwards she would join him at his side. Still, Angeline had a dark sense of foreboding that she would never return to what she knew if she went through the construct. With a force of will and faith, Angeline banished such weak thoughts from her mind and continued her ritual.

Her combat belt was already full of spare bolter magazines and grenades, as well as her standard field first aid kit. A large double edged combat knife was in a sheath to the side, but she gave no prayers to it. A sharp piece of metal did not need prayers, nor did the belt. She merely clasped it around her waist and cinched it tightly around herself before donning the rest of her apparel. Silver fleur de lys stood out sharply against the ebony of her armour and Angeline ran her hand affectionately over the symbols of faith before donning her red battle cloak. Last of all, Angeline knelt below a low stand where her helmet rested. She bowed her head briefly, then reached up and donned her helmet. Her vision switched to a world of blue with targeting auspexes running over everything around her, looking for a threat and displaying useful tactical information and the weapons around her that she could use. So it was with glowing blue eyes that Angeline left the armoury and strode to the bridge, prepared for anything they might find once they crossed into the unknown. The Emperor would guide them and direct them where he desired.

"Are the final preparation ready yet?" asked Nyxos, standing at the railing overlooking the command bridge. A mixture of naval officers and servitors manned the stations below him. Many sometimes criticized the fact the Imperium lacked strong and well coded computer systems to control critical systems of the ship, but what those people often forgot was that the human brain is a super computer. When wiped of anything not necessary and all distractions, hardwired servitors were able to outperform even some of the best machines of the Adeptus Mechanicus in terms of simple targeting and guidance. The power of the human mind was a wonderful thing.

"Yes my lord, the Mechanicus priests have blessed the new engine and say that it is fully operational. They are just finishing the last rights of activation and say that it will be ready by the time we arrive at the construct."

"How long until we arrive?"

"Estimated time of arrival is twenty standard Terra minutes Lord."

"I trust that we are fully prepared to deal with anything that may appear once we use the construct, correct?"

"Lord with respect, the _Herald _is a grand cruiser. Seven kilometres long, 95 000 crew members on board, lance batteries, las and bolter point defence, torpedoes, missiles, fighters, bombers, and to top it all off , we even have a nova cannon on board. Anything short of a battleship and maybe even a battleship will be atomized before they can even get close. We've nothing to fear. We're as safe as a baby in its mother's arms. The _Herald _has been outfitted with enough arms and armour to beat back a ship far outside her weight class. Our voids could stop a small moon hitting us dead it its tracks."

"Hubris and pride have led to the downfall of many great forces and many great men over the long course of time and history. It will no doubt claim a great deal more and I do not wish to see my name listed among those. I want voids up as soon as we arrive and the warp engines prepared to make a blind jump. The armsmen and my stim warriors should be prepped and ready to repel boarders. I will not let arrogance rule my judgement or those of my crew. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly lord, I meant no offence, your will be done," said the officer, then turning and barking out a few orders that were hurriedly relayed throughout the rest of the ship. While he did that, Nyxos simply stared at the construct before them.

He had seen many great and terrible things in his life, some had captivated him, others had horrified him, but all had interested him. This though, this was different than all the rest. It was not like the psi-inert materials that the necrons used, nor was it the highly psi-reactive wraithbone that he eldar used. It was something else, something in the middle. It didn't sing with harmony like wraithbone did, welcoming his thoughts, but neither did his thoughts slide off and over it like oil as it did with things of necron construction. It allowed his mind to enter and explore it, but at the same time it did not welcome it. It was a curious construct, one that had owned his every waking thought for the past four years and he rarely thought of anything else.

What kind of world was on the other side waiting to be explored? What kind of technological wonders were waiting to be discovered and brought to light? What secrets would be uncovered, what truths revealed, what foes faced? It was exhilarating and the reason why Nyxos had become an inquisitor in the first place. He had a desire to _know, _a desire to _understand_, and above else to hold things in his hands and know that he was the one who had found them, who had conquered them. _What treasures do you hold, and what are you hiding from me?_ Thought Nyxos as he stared at the xeno construct ahead of him.

Nyxos felt a sent of euphoric jubilation take hold as they neared it and had to will his body to stay calm and suppress a shudder. Gooseflesh pimples broke out over his body though like there was a chill in the air on the bridge. The excitement, the anticipation, it was almost too much. He almost just wanted to say engines ahead full and hit the relay going at max speed instead of the cruising speed that the Mechanicus along had advised.

Some illogical part of his hind brain simply thought that he was crawling along in the _Herald _and that he would make better time if he were to simply get out and run. Use his own two legs and Emperor given muscle to propel him forwards. His fore brain though knew though, that his ship was going much faster than any animal could ever hope to, and many times faster than any atmospheric vehicle could manage.

Nyxos turned around as he heard the whoosh of the bridge door opening, and saw Angeline enter. Like a goddess of death, she strode forward in midnight black power armour polished to a glossy sheen. A blood red combat robe was draped over her shoulders, like a high born lady might drape a scarf. Devotional icons and purity ribbons hung from her armour like fine regalia, the silver fleur de lys that adorned her flashing brilliantly as they caught the light. Her stride was large and confident, as inexorable and unstoppable as the Imperium itself, as the faith she represented. No hesitation in her step, no doubt, no fear of what they were going to do or what they might find. Glowing blue lenses in her helmet completing the image.

"My lord, I am here as requested," intoned Angeline, her voice distorted slightly by the vox, but much stronger and more powerful as a result.

"Good, I wish for you to be present when we travel through the construct. The others will be along shortly. I want everyone to witness this."

"Others lord?"

"Nyxos please if you could. You didn't think that you were the only one whom I confided in did you Angeline?"

"Forgive my assumptions my l-Nyxos, I saw no one else with you for the voyage."

"It is a very large ship," said Nyxos with his ever present half smile.

The first to arrive was a Mechanicus Priest, and a high ranking one at that. His crimson robes pooled at the floor by his feet, yet did not sway when he moved as legs would cause them to, almost like he was floating. Hood up, head slightly bowed, hands clasped inside his sleeves, he almost looked like an ethereal being given form and function around them. He seemingly glided over to the railing and raised his head, revealing red glowing eyes from deep within his robes.

"Blessing's of the Omnissiah be upon you Techpriest Ovidiu."

"And you as well Nyxos," said Ovidiu, his voice oddly distorted like there were two people speaking at once. Two voices overlapping each other perfectly, but one a deep bass voice, the other effeminate and higher pitched. "I have accepted your invitation to this momentous occasion to not only witness this form of the Omnissiah's might, but to protect it's pure creation from the predation of this techno heresy marvel. The logarithms involved in these calculations have allowed for countless possibilities and outcomes. There is a 48.345 percent chance repeating that there will be a negative outcome to this experiment. But the rewards, are far greater than the risks. Even now I have not completed the calculations on what we could garner from such a venture. If my estimates are even at all accurate, which they are, the spoils of this could advance Mechanicus technology by centuries. Just imagine it. Travelling vast distances in an instant, reinforcements arriving immediately, messages only taking days to transmit, perhaps hours instead of months. It would change the whole of the Imperium as we know it. It is... most intriguing."

"Have you downloaded new emotional responses since we last talked old friend? You seem unusually...animated."

"Forgive me, this occasion has evoked emotional responses within me that I had though long since expunged from my core processes. To have them come to the fore once again, is a note of interest to me that I must analyze. It is most intriguing. Still, it will not disrupt my study of this construct, or what lies beyond it."

"That is why we are doing this honoured techpriest. This occasion is not one just meant for one head of the aquilla, but both. I am deeply humbled by Mars's interest in this and grateful for their support. This is a task that is meant to be taken by the whole of the Imperium, not just a single branch. As well, I am thankful for you to be the one at my side old friend."

"As am I, Nyxos. This event has run emotion simulations in me that I had thought long since deleted and erased. Perhaps they are natural? It is most...intriguing."

Again the door to the bridge opened, but this time two figures entered. A storm trooper colonel, his helmet held under the crook of his arm and an arbites enforcer, without her helmet entirely.

"Svetlana, Aditya, I am glad that you could both make it," said Nyxos warmly.

"Someone has to keep you from breaking _every _law in the Imperium Nick," said Svetlana with a smile, her blonde hair held up in a severe bun at the back of her head. Her carapace armour was well worn, but also well cared for. She had two hell pistols in low hanging holsters on her hips, and her smile raised the left side of her face more than the right with her impish grin, raising some of the few freckles that she had on her cheeks, purple eyes alight with mirth. Her skin was not quite pale, but still very lightly toned and remarkably free of scars. "Good to see you."

"It's not like we had much of an option Inquisitor. When the inquisition asks politely, it means come now. Still, this thing is rather impressive to look at and your company isn't too intolerable, sir," said Aditya. His skin was the colour of mocha and his eyes dark and watchful. His hair was dark black, but beginning to grey and he wore his carapace armour like an Imperial hero. His posture was straight and commanding, his physique was strong without being over muscled, and an aura of command hung around the man. A faint scar ran from his cheek to his eye, and he was all business. A byproduct of serving in the vaunted storm troopers of the Imperium.

"Always glad to have you two at my side," said Nyxos putting his palm flat against Aditya's as both men bowed their heads.

"Namaste," said both men at once and as they raised their heads, there was a flicker on Aditya's face, something akin to the beginnings of a grin afforded to an old and dear friend.

"And my dear sweet Svetlana," said Nyxos shaking her hand which amounted to seeing who could crush the others knuckles first, then kissed her three times, once on her armoured hand and once on each cheek.

"Don't get any idea's Nick," said Svetlana, playfully wagging a finger at him.

"Not with the Emperor's gaze upon me," said Nyxos gesturing to Angeline.

"The Emperor is always watching," said Angeline stoically.

"My point exactly," replied Nyxos.

"That's no fun," huffed Svetlana.

"Where's Simon?" asked Aditya.

"Probably lost...again," said Svetlana irritated. "I better not have to go find him again."

"He'll get here when he gets here," said Nyxos. "Maneesh will probably be with him when he comes."

"Wych child," said Aditya distastefully.

"I was not told about there being a psyker coming with us, this is completely unacceptable," said Angeline, her voice rising in the beginnings of outrage. "An abomination of that kind does not deserve to be brought on such a holy mission."

"You will be nice to her, both of you," said Nyxos fixing both Aditya and Angeline with a hard stare. "Especially you Aditya, I had expected better of you, especially with our history and you knowing what I am."

"I am sorry," said Aditya bowing his head. "It will not happen again."

"Are you saying that you are a psyker?" asked Angeline, a guarded tone in her words. Hand travelling unconsciously to the butt of her bolter.

"Yes. Does this change you opinion of me Angeline?"

"Yes," replied Angeline without hesitation.

"I admire honesty Angeline, I really do. What do you intend to do about it though? There is still time for you to leave my service if you so choose." There was a moment of tense silence as everyone present watched the armed and armoured sister of battle in their midst.

"I owe you a debt and the Emperor speaks through you Inquisitor. I will not shy away from your path, no matter the obstacles in the way. I am yours to wield as you see fit, I will raise no objection against what you do. Ave Imperator."

"Ave Sororitas," said Nyxos almost serenely.

With the tense exchange over with, the mood relaxed and the assembled group all turned and looked at the rapidly enlarging construct, the _Herald _on its final approach. The construct was beautiful in an alien way. The golden light brilliant and the symmetry flawless. Then again though, a supernova was beautiful too, but that didn't mean it wouldn't destroy you if you got in its way. It reminded Nyxos of the way he had used to play with candles when he was a child. You could shape and mould the flame however you wished and the heat would not harm you if you were careful and knew what you were doing. However, one errant movement, cupping the flame too long, or leaving his hand too close and he would get burned. He didn't intend to get burned this time around though.

"There was a 63.234 percent repeating chance of the conflict with the Sororitas turning violent resulting in one or more deaths," computed Ovidiu.

"Remember what I told you about telling us the odds of things of that nature?" asked Aditya.

"No, I removed such information when there began to be too many copies available for reference," responded Ovidiu. Aditya sighed through his nose and Svetlana laughed.

"I do not understand. What is so funny?" asked Ovidiu perplexed and Svetlana stopped laughing.

"You need a sense of humour cogboy," said Svetlana punching him in the arm playfully. Ovidiu looked curiously at his arm and then at Svetlana's fist, a whirring sound emanating from the inside of his robes.

"Oh, I see, so punching in the arm is an appropriate social greeting mechanism?" asked Ovidiu excitedly like he had just made an important discovery.

"I guess...so," said Svetlana warily. She hit the ground hard as a metallic hand shot out and impacted her arm hard with a crash of metal on ceramite.

"I believe I am getting the hang of these social interactions," said Ovidiu pleased with himself. "I must file this away for future reference immediately. What a most intriguing discovery."

"You might want to work on it a bit first though. Ugh, you hit like a Throne damned truck," groaned Svetlana rising.

"Do not use the Emperor's name in vain," said Angeline sharply. "It's a sin and an affront to use his name in such a way."

"Alright _mom_."

"Children. I look for warriors and I get children," mumbled Nyxos to himself taking off his hat and playing with the feather in the brim.

"Svetlana behave, Ovidiu, study social interactions and their purpose more before making your hypothesis. Angeline, don't shoot anyone," said Aditya wearily. Like he had done this many times before and was getting tired of playing nursemaid.

"Can I have a pony too daddy?" asked Svetlana sweetly. "Ow ow ow ow, let go of my ear," said Svetlana as Aditya grabbed her ear in an admantanium grip between his thumb and forefinger.

"I can see why you had such trouble in the arbites," said Aditya still holding Svetlana's ear. "No discipline." Ovidiu began to move towards Nyxos.

"Don't even think about it Ovidiu," said Nyxos knowing his intent.

"But I was merely going to test my hypothesis on social interactions."

"Please don't."

"Very well," said Ovidiu moving back to his former position. Nyxos had never once let his gaze waver from the construct ahead of them and was only vaguely aware of Aditya letting go of Svetlana's ear and her complaining profusely about it. They behaved like children, but they were the best at what they did and could be utterly ruthless when he needed them to be. Let them have their fun, for he would have his prize.

"There's a man hiding behind the chandelier, should I kill him?" asked Ageline without turning her head. Her hand hovering just above the grip of her mag-locked bolter.

"What? No. Takumi, could you join us down here please?" A shadow detached itself silently from the upper reaches of the command bridge and a man clad in a form fitting black bodyglove dropped down, only a slit for his eyes showed skin as he straightened. Dark and almond shaped eyes were revealed as he stood, his body lean with a wiry strength. A single weapon was visible as he stood, a long curving psy-sword strapped to his back. The man put his fist into his open palm and bowed to Nyxos, but his eyes never left those of the inquisitor.

"Thank you for coming Takumi."

"..."

"Still as silent as ever I see," said Nyxos returning the bow. "Your master would be proud of you Takumi."

"Lord I would advise you take your seat as we are about to enter the construct's field of effect. The mechanicus priests have voxed that the new engine is fully operational and has been sanctified for use," said the actual captain of the ship. His pale, sickly looking flesh sprouting dozens of conducting cables and neural wires, all of which leading back to his command throne. He was an old hand at running this ship, having been in command before Nyxos commandeered it, and probably after Nyxos was long gone.

"Simon and Maneesh aren't here yet though," said Svetlana concerned. "They won't know."

"They'll know, in fact they're nearly here," said Nyxos. "Three, two, one, and now," said Nyxos as the door to the command bridge opened up once again.

A giant of a man stood in the doorway, as wide across as nearly three men and rippling with hard, packed muscle. His chest was bare and his ebony skin was crisscrossed with lines of old scars gone shiny with age. He was shaved bald and stood at an astounding eight feet tall. At his waist was a belt with an impossibly large golden buckle, with the depiction of two men grappling with each other on it. A powerfist was on either hand, but were for the moment deactivated.

At his side, was a young girl of about ten with mocha coloured skin and eyes the colour of honeyed gold. She had a long dark braid of hair down her back and wore a simple cream coloured dress. She held a crystal ball in her hand in which her eyes were riveted to and colours of a thousand different hues swirled within.

Simon and Maneesha, but there was another one there that wasn't as well known as those two. A tall redheaded woman with far too many freckles in a flight suit who looked gangly and uncoordinated as Maneesha led her around by the hand. Light blue eyes flickered over the assembled warriors nervously.

"What kept you?" asked Nyxos pleasantly.

"Maneesha took a detour and I followed," said Simon, his voice a deep rumbling noise that came from far down in his chest. He was a large man and a fierce man, a former pit fighter, but he had taken it upon himself to be the unofficial guardian of the wych child Maneesha. He was oddly protective of the girl who barely spoke to anyone except to give a prophesy and when she did it was always in a dull monotone. He had been the champion of the Deep Pits and had killed countless other gladiators, many better armed, and all with just his fists. It had been quite by chance that Nyxos had found him at all.

"She will be important," said Maneesha in her monotone voice, giving the tall redhead a small push forwards. She was garbed in a light green flight suit and looked like she had been in the middle of lunch when she had been grabbed. Rather forcefully if the sugared drink spilled down the front of her flight suit was anything to go by. She looked around almost a little fearfully, as if thinking that she was in trouble for something. She swallowed heavily and began hurriedly trying to make herself look presentable, but giving up under the unwavering gazes of the retinue and simply holding her hands in front of her, beads of sweat starting to break out on her forehead, yet remarkably her hands didn't shake.

"What is your name?" asked Nyxos walking up to her.

"Uh, Flight Lieu-"

"Name," said Nyxos again sternly.

"Joan. Uh, lord...Inquisitor, um, sir," said Joan fumbling with the words and rubbing the side of her neck nervously, before stopping and taking her hand down and away in a jerky movement, betraying her nerves. "I'm...I'm not i-in trouble, am I? Lord?"

"I don't know, are you?" asked Nyxos his face giving nothing away.

"Well I...Oh throne I'm so sorry," said Joan breaking down. I know that I shouldn't have looked, but I'd been aboard for months without anything and I know that it's bad that the guy in the vid was dressed like the Emperor, but he was hot. I mean really hot. I know that it's wrong, but I was alone and I had the vid, and I didn't think anyone would care. I mean it's not like no one else does it and I know that I shouldn't have, and...and."

"You watched a porno vid based off the Emperor?" asked Svetlana her voice unnaturally calm.

"Yes," said Joan, her eyes shifting back and forth nervously between the diverse operatives in front of her. Svetlana sauntered up to her and put her arm around the lanky woman's shoulders and Joan swallowed nervously again. Svetlana smiled sweetly as she rested her armoured arm on the redhead's shoulder and stared her straight in the eyes.

"Well that settles it then. We have to kill you." Svetlana began to reach for one of her two low handing hell pistols.

"Oh Emperor no," sobbed Joan, tears running down her face and pleading for her life. Tears were running down Svetlana's face too, but they were because of laughter.

"I'm just frakking with you ginge, I don't really care," said Svetlana wiping tears away from her eyes. "Maneesha has basically just picked you for the team, so welcome to the family. I'm Svetlana, it's nice to meet ya."

"What?" choked out Joan, sniffling away some of her tears.

"Yeah, now we've got another girl on the team. The beauty, the ginge, and chastity Jane over here," said Svetlana taking Joan over to Angeline so that she could reach an arm up onto the power armoured shoulder like they were all friends posing for a photo.

"Don't touch me," said Angeline brusquely.

"Or just the two of us I guess," said Svetlana moving her arm carefully away from Angeline. Svetlana felt her arm shaking and looked over to the redhead at her side.

"You bitch! I thought that I was going to die!" seethed Joan, her face well on its way to matching her hair in colour. Her body trembling in rage.

"And then there was just me," said Svetlana, taking her arm away and sighing.

"Don't curse in front of Maneesha, it's bad," rumbled Simon.

"Okay big guy, tell that to ginge over here."

"Don't call me ginge!" shot back Joan hotly.

"Children, nothing but children," mumbled Nyxos to himself again. Then again, nerves and emotions were running high and a little way to blow off some steam and laugh would be good for them.

"You need to see me later," said Angeline, fixing a cold blue gaze at the lanky pilot.

"Me?" asked Joan, pointing to her chest and looking around, her anger dissipating as quickly as water hit by a las beam.

"Yes. You need to have a confessional about your sins. Eight PM sharp tonight, don't make me wait." The tone in Angeline's voice brokered no argument and Joan gave none.

"Uh, o-okay," said Joan with a nervous laugh which died away under the scrutinizing gaze of the Sororitas. The lanky pilot cleared her throat and pulled at her collar which had suddenly become far too tight.

"My lord, you really must take your seat," said the captain again. At his words, the rest of the retinue went to the crash chairs that were lined against the walls and strapped themselves in. Three were clearly modified. One for the Sororitas in her powered armour, one for Simon and his vast bulk, and the last for Maneesh and her childish form. Joan just found a spare one and sat down, though unfortunately for her, that was right next to Angeline. The only one not to move to take their seat, was the inquisitor himself.

Lord, please take your seat. We don't know what the transition with be like," implored the captain. Nyxos however, didn't even turn around to answer him, just stared at the construct as they drew alongside it.

"I've always met my fate head on captain, gives it a nice look at my good side," said Nyxos with his ever present half smile. "I've waited four long years for this day and I want to see it standing on my own two feet. I will not ride out complacently and watch this play out before me like a vid. I will stand and I will see what comes of it. The Imperium has achieved nothing by sitting on its haunches and neither will I."

"My lord I must insist that you sit."

"Then I must respectfully decline," said Nyxos clasping his hands behind his back. There was a snap of a buckle being undone and Aditya rose from his chair and went to stand beside Nyxos. There was another as Maneesha rose, then another as Simon quickly followed suit. With a sigh, Svetlana undid hers and stood went to stand beside the Inquisitor, followed quickly by Ovidiu.

"The hell?" said Svetlana as she saw that Takumi was already at the inquisitor's side even though she hadn't seen him move. So silent and still it was like if she stopped looking at him he would disappear.

With thudding footsteps, Angeline strode forwards and took a spot behind Nyxos, her expression unreadable behind her blank helmet. Joan looked around as if unsure what to do in her crash seat, then with a grunt of exasperation, undid the clasps and went to stand with the inquisitor, albeit farther near the back and away from Angeline.

"Chair's were bloody uncomfortable. Sir,"said Aditya standing as if he were on parade, a power blade on his hip done to a pristine shine.

"There was only a 49.34 percent even chance of the ship surviving the jump. .0034 of any of the crew surviving," said Ovidiu in his layered voice.

"I want to watch this...it's interesting," said Maneesha, her voice emotionless.

"The Emperor will keep us safe, or he will not. If he wants us to live we will, no matter the precautions we take," said Angeline, her faith shining like a torch.

"I just wanted to be popular," said Svetlana. "What? Everyone else was doing it. Even ginge."

"Don't call me ginge you purple-eyed frak!"

"Such a happy family," said Svetlana grinning impishly.

"Language," said Simon covering Maneesha's ears.

"Preparing jump procedures, all crew brace for construct activation," said the captain into a vox piece that carried to all parts of the ship.

"Captain, could you play something rousing for this occasion?" asked Nyxos.

"Of course Lord."

It started off low, just a bass tremor, but soon the music began to swell and fill the ship, spilling from the vox speakers. The Grand Imperial Terran Symphony Orchestra, Wings of Humanity. Cymbals crashed and trumpets blared in perfect harmony, woodwinds adding a haunting aspect to the song, hopeful, and uplifting the notes spilled from the speakers. It started slow and began to build, the crescendo rising and nearing its peak even as a golden energy began to envelope the ship. Like fingers made of pure energy, the slivers of gold played and danced over the surface of _Herald _as if searching for a grip.

"I cast aside my mortal fears and mortal strife as I spread my wings wide, wings white as snow taking flight from their mould. Leaving the hallowed earth of Terra behind forever, never to see her face again, even as she sends me off into the unknown. Though I travel far from all that is pure, the strength of the Emperor gives my wings swift flight and gives my voice timbre. Though I shall never see the face of Terra again, I carry it in my heart and see it in my dreams, as my wings take me far. Far far away from all that is pure," sang Angeline as a hum built up from the energy of the construct.

"Most intriguing," said Ovidiu, his red eye sensors practically alight with delight and intrigue. Countless algorithms and statistics running through his mind as he calculated and absorbed giga quads of data in a heartbeat.

With a final crash of cymbals, the energy of the construct discharged and sent the Herald forward, the stars ahead blurring into a white streak for a moment before the entire front view port turned to the most brilliant hue of white.

"Barriers crossed, locks undone, an unwanted merging, ancients awakened from their slumber, many souls joined as one, the ouroboros eats again, the grey man will have his due, and reap a grisly harvest," said Maneesha monotone, golden eyes only looking up for an instant as the _Herald _took flight into the yawning abyss. She looked into the void and she saw what looked back.

The _Herald _travelled for what couldn't have been more than a few moments and when it reentered normal space with a jolt that caused those assembled to jolt, a ship filled the view screen, or rather was heading straight for it.

"Shit!" said Svetlana hitting the deck, quickly followed by most present.

"Voids up!" Commanded Nyxos at the same time as the captain. An instant before the ship impacted the command bridge, translucent voids sprang into life. Weak, shimmering, but there. The ship that impacted it though, disintegrated in a fireball a moment after the blue flash of its shields gave out, pieces of superstructure and armoured plating spinning away into the vastness of space. The void shields didn't even flicker.

"Status report," said the captain calmly.

"Voids at 16% and climbing rapidly sir, they almost didn't register the impact. Several more ships are to our aft and port sides, shall we come about?"

"Lord?" asked the captain looking to Nyxos.

"Here we stand on the precipice of discovery and a first meeting chance with a new race. An opportunity that mankind had dreamed of for millennium before it realized that that dream was in fact a nightmare and learned to fear the depths of space, before it conquered it. Destroy all but one, I wish to see what they look like, then see how they look when they die," said Nyxos, his gaze fixed firmly into the void of space.

"Power up lances, target the smallest and fastest of their ships, use point defence A1B through A1K to disable the largest of their vessels. Mark, fire," said the captain with cold detachment. Emerald beams of energy built up in the lance batteries on the _Herald _as it executed what would be called a hairpin turn by the Imperial Navy, but in fact encompassing thousands of kilometres as its vast speed and bulk was forced into a hairpin turn.

Like emerald spears, the lance batteries shot out and struck the ships dead centre and watched as they exploded in silent blossoms of flame. The bulkiest of the streamlined and organic looking ships took several high powered las cannon point defense shots to it's engines. Oddly though, none of the voids activated on any of the small ships.

"Enemy weapons charging, brace for impact," came a professional voice from sensors. Those present found something to hang on to as the rotund ship ship fired its main weapon. A solid slug accelerated to incredible speeds. The crew waited for the impact, and waited, and waited. "Impact confirmed, .0001 percent loss to voids. Full charge again," came the assured voice from amongst the naval officers.

"Pathetic vermin," said the captain contemptuously. "Come about and use point defence on minimal power to disable their weapons. Are we going to be boarding them Lord?" asked the captain, turning to Nyxos.

"Yes, but I believe that me and my retinue and storm trooper cadre can take care of that matter Captian. Hold your armsmen in reserve, but keep them on standby. I will take no chances with this. Joan," said Nyxos sharply.

"Yes lord?" said the lanky pilot quickly.

"You're piloting the boarding craft, get it ready."

"Uh, yes lord," said Joan taking off like the hounds of the ruinous powers themselves were nipping at her heels. Almost impacting on the bridge door, before skidding to a halt and taking off again as soon as it was open.

"Aditya, get your men together, we're going hunting."

"It will be a pleasure sir," said Aditya leaving the bridge, his stride just a little straighter and just a little prouder.

"Sister Angeline?"

"Yes Nyxos?"

"I want to see what skill a woman who held the prestigious title of Sister Superior Elohime in the Sororitas can do. Get ready to board, I'll be down shortly."

"Your will be done," said Angeline. If she wouldn't have been wearing her helmet, those around would have seen the smile on her face.

Kalak wiped the sweat from his four eyes as he hefted his assault rifle towards the airlock door. Kalak was a mercenary by trade and a slaver by choice, having done a run like this dozens of times before. It was good credits, running with Tulak and his small pirate fleet. Tulak took care of his men and made sure that they wanted for nought when they ran with him. Drugs came cheap, girls came easy and cheaper, and though dangerous there was little risk of getting caught by an Alliance or Citadel patrol fleet. Little risk and high rewards, just the way that Kalak liked his odds.

The last haul that they had had been good, hitting a few isolated ships and snagging a few person's of interest who they could get a ransom for, but didn't have to get worried about someone sending a team of mercs of their own after them. A few Turians, a few Humans, some Asari, and even a Quarian. They had tried to grab a Krogan, but that had ended as could have been expected, in a hail of gunfire and one very dead Krogan.

Yes the odds had always been good, until a ship the size of the damned Citadel had popped out of nowhere and just run over Tulak and their cruiser flagship the _Desperado. _Just run the damned thing over and blown the rest of them out of the damned void. Kalak was scared and he wanted to get the hell out off of the slave ship he was supposed to protect. To hell with the credits, drugs, and women. He couldn't spend a damn cred of it if he was dead. Still, he couldn't show fear or else there was no chance of survival at all for anyone on board. There were twenty mercs on board, including the pilot and they were all willing to spill blood if it meant protecting their own hides. Twenty mercs. Men that Kalak had spilled blood with a hundred times and would stab in the back all the same for a profit, but the same could have been said for anyone of them.

Still, it was at times like this when their backs were up against the wall that they came together. Lures of profit brought them into it, but it was danger and threat of death that held them together stronger than some military outfits that they had had the misfortune to come across. A muted clank, and Kalak knew that they were about to be boarded. He gripped his weapon more tightly and drew comfort from his body armour. Real good military grade stuff, not that private security crap that so many mercs favoured. It had cost him a hell of a lot of creds, but if it saved his life, it was worth every penny.

A half dozen other mercs all clutched a variety of other weapons in their hands. Assualt rifles, submachine guns, shotguns, and each had enough thermal clips to keep the fight going on for a long time. Hell, some even had the models that didn't need thermal clips at all. A little finicky and prone to exploding if you fired it too much without venting, or the wielder getting burned by the venting heat, but damned near unlimited ammo.

Kalak sighted down the length of his rifle, letting the cross hair of his electronic sights come to rest at chest level on the airlock door. _First asshole to come charging through gets an accelerator round right through his damned heart._ The words were boastful, but they did little to reassure him. His hands trembled a little as he held the rifle, but he made sure that the other mercs couldn't see it. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest and he had to wipe sweat away that was running across the fine hairs of his face and into his uppermost pair of eyes. Damn did he not want to be here.

There were sounds on the other end of the airlock, muted and almost imperceptible, more vibrations that actual sound, but Kalak flipped the safety off his rifle all the same and set it to automatic, bracing it on the deployable riot barricade that they had for this very situation. Or at least something very similar to this. Kalak was momentarily blinded by the flash.

The airlock door exploded inwards and splintered, sending red hot shards of metal through the air like the old lead bullets that had been out of date for hundreds if not thousands of years. Well, except by those neanderthal humans. The metal splinters were stopped dead by both the barricades and kinetic barriers and Kalak felt just a little more thankful for his military grade armour. Flame followed it and the heat made Kalak's eyes water and the smell of hot metal and spent explosive material filled the air. There was a stutter as accelerator rounds were poured into the breach and Kalak joined in eagerly. Kalak saw a glimmer of glowing blue eyes, before Relik's head exploded in a gory explosion.

Where accelerator rounds were a light stutter, the weapon that was being used against them was a deep BOOM, and it fired quickly. Relik's shields took two of the solid rounds the size of Kalak's fist before giving out and pasting him all over the bulkhead. Literally exploded him, not just a little bit of sissy spatter that the accelerator weapons made either. It looked like someone had taken a hammer to Relik's head until it was pulp and smeared it on the wall, then smacked sliced up his neck and shoulders for good measure. There was even a piece of Relik on _him!_ It was then that Kalak got his first good look at their invader.

Seven feet tall, clad in black armour that whined as it moved and silver icons on its body. Streams of paper came from its armour and it had a red cloak on its shoulders, like some warrior from ancient times. It had no kinetic barriers and Kalak's rounds struck true every time, but they did not penetrate. They marred the glossy shine of the armour, but that was all. Now there were only three of the mercs left in the corridor leading to the airlock, Farn and Weluk, both getting wasted within a heartbeat of each other.

It was then that Kalak felt fear. Real fear from the bottom of his gut, from the depths of his soul even. Screw this, screw the mercs, screw the slaves, screw it all, he was getting the hell out of here! Rising from his cover and running, Kalak watched as both Brelik and Oplek were were gunned down with two short and controlled bursts. They hadn't even been able to change sinks and they were already dead. Who the hell was this?

Kalak stumbled as he felt the rounds impact him, the first two taking down his shields and the third taking off his leg below the knee. Kalak cried down as he fell, his body already going into shock from the hit. So much so that he even tried to stand on the phantom limb before he fell back down to the decking. Blood draining from his face and onto the floor, Kalak began to crawl. Weeping and groaning, pissing himself as he lost control of his bodily functions.

Kalak felt a boot dig into his ribs and flip him over, making him look up into the two cold blue eyes of his own personal demon.

"Please, please don't kill me," begged Kalak. I surrender, just don't kill me please!" The figure was silent for a moment, then it spoke in a feminine voice that Kalak barely registered in his pain and fear induced pleading.

"Permittes vivere in xenonem. Eligentur flammis," said the armoured figure stretching out a hand towards Kalak. Had Kalak not been delirious with pain and blood loss, he might have noticed that there was a pilot light on the underside and not reached for the outstretched hand. It wouldn't have made much of a difference though. Scorching blue and white flame set him alight like an organic wick and he screamed until he inhaled the flame and it charred his throat black and turned his vocal cords to ash. Had Kalak survived a moment longer, he would have seen humans dressed in thick, rigid armour streaking bast on either side, greatcoats flaring as pitiless red targeting sensors sought out targets, cord fed hellguns up and searching. The fight was over in a matter of minutes, with only two of the slavers taken alive. The slaves though, were a different matter entirely.

The whole of the slaver ship was taken inside the hangar bay of the _Herald_ as indeed some of the aircraft that were inside the bay were as big or bigger than the slaver's ship. By Imperial standards, the slaver's ship was little more than a trawler or a large gun cutter. With only room for twenty crew members, it could hardly be called a ship, but there were far more than twenty crew members on board. It's holds were filled to bursting with sentient beings. Sentient being used very loosely of course, as only a portion of those in the holds were human.

No Imperial forces had been allowed into the holds, not until they were certain that those in the holds were not psychically aware or had some other kind of contamination or mutation amongst them like that. Inquisitorial stormtroopers stood guard at the door leading to the slave hold, hell guns held firm in steady hands, soulless red eyes gazing at anything and anyone that came too close. The first to be allowed into the hold, would be the Adeptus Mechanicus.

More specifically the magos biologis of the Adeptus Mechanicus that had been lent to Inquisitor Nyxos for this very purpose. There were maybe a dozen of them and they came by a variety of locomotion. Some walked forward like a man would, metal legs a perfect mimic of human musculature. Other's came forward on wheels or threads, some came forward on spider-like melachantrites that clicked and clacked on the xeno decking as they moved. Vox grills replaced vocal cords, hissing tubes replaced lungs, red sensors replaced eyes, and various extra mechanical appendages and melachantrites extended from their bodies. Some ending in mundane instruments, others were fierce looking blades and surgical tools. Currently being held in self containing sheathes or holders that routinely ran antiseptics, cleaning fluids, and other such sterilizing agents over their monomolecular blades. Scalpel sharp was for those dimwits in the Imperial medicae, too scared to cut too deep. The perfection of the machine allowed for a precision of cutting that could be measured down to the nanometre.

Acolytes carried incense burners behind the senior techpriests, only having one or two augmentations on their bodies as a result and since that they did not have the necessary filters and immune response systems in their bodies, they were garbed in the finest bio-protection suits at the Mechanicus's disposal. The techpriests chanted as they moved, in high binaric chant, the language of Mars, of the Omnissiah. The binary was pure and unblemished code, coming from the minds and processing units of those centuries old at their craft, and those who were but a step away from union with the Omnissiah.

Among the techpriests and the acolytes however, were the skitarii. The foot soldiers of the Mechanicus, enforcers of the Omnissiah's will and protectors of his creations. Skitarii can differ depending on their task and what sect they serve of the Mechanicus. Some nearly entirely human save for a few genetic enhancements, others however, were far more bestial. These skitarii were of the latter category.

They moved forwards on six metallic and spider-like legs, their weapon grafts pointed towards the floor, targeting sensors currently inactive. They had ceramite and plas steel armoured torsos, their faces hidden behind metal helms form grafted to their heads. Only the cold red targeting sensor's were visible in the eye slit of their helm. The Mechanicus cog decorated their torsos, as well as their crimson cloaks, the chosen colour of the machine god, of Mars.

The stormtroopers stood aside as the techpriests came to the door, a glowing red circle over the centre of the door denying them access. One of the techpriests came forward and placed her hand, for it had been a her long ago, on the door and felt her processing centres attempt to interact with those of the door. It was always hard when machines of two different operating principles came into contact with each other. The machines of the xenos not understanding the glory of the machine god and refusing to accept his pure and untainted binaric commands. The Imperial machine feeling sullied and unhappy to have to deal with such unbelievers of the Omnissiah, but programs and prayers had been made for such instances as this and the techpriestess changed the very makeup of the locking mechanism to allow Imperial commands to enter its circuitry. The machine spirit of the door was small and unaccommodating of the vast amounts of data that the techpriestess was used to being able to use.

It took longer than normal to open the door than it should have, so long that her peers began to jeer her in their shared thought processes, before the moderator of their thoughts, the highest magos ordered them to delete and rerun their emotional simulators to a setting more befitting members of the Mechanicus and they complied. It took nearly ten times longer than it should have, taking and entire

.29 seconds to open the door of such crude security protocols. The icon on the door changed to green and opened with a whoosh. The Mechanicus marched into the cargo holds, chanting in binary. They were pleased by what they found.

Shitara didn't know what was going on, but she knew that it couldn't be good. She had been working as an exotic dancer aboard a rich turian's yacht and was still in the early stages of her maiden years. The turian for whatever reason had decided that he wanted to go for a cruise through the traverse with his similarly rich friends for a taste of danger and excitement. Outside of Citadel Space they were far from the eyes of the law and farther still from its protection. He had hired on a lot of private security, good ones too. He had krogans and veteran turian military soldiers who had mustered out and were trying their hand at mercenary work.

It hadn't really mattered much though, the slavers had hit them from the dark side of some moon, disabling their ship and killing anyone who put up a fight. So now Shitara was stuck in this ship, manacled to the wall and shoulder to shoulder with people of a dozen other races, some of whom had been here much longer than she had if the smell was anything to go by. Then again, she probably didn't smell like roses either.

Everyone was talking in hushed whispers now, as if afraid to speak too loudly for fear of being overheard if the slavers had won the conflict, but it didn't seem too likely. They had all heard the stutter of accelerator fire, but also a deep boom like someone was using a grenade launcher or something similar. Then there were the cracks that Shitara had only heard something similar to when she had been in school and they had been experimenting with cutting lasers. An ozone crack that had been the last sound she heard after the last traces of resistance had faded.

Maybe it was a Citadel anti-piracy team using mercenaries and some kind of alien weaponry so that it couldn't be traced back to the council. Whatever thoughts that Shitara had as to who it could have been, were put to rest, as with a cheerful chime, the doors opened and something from a nightmare walked into their midst.

Metal men, if they were men at all walked, if that could be used to describe how them moved, came into the room. Harsh and grating sounds were coming from them as they moved, almost like feedback from very old computers. They had red hoods and cloaks, but glowing red eyes peered from within the depths of the hoods. Metal arms and instruments protruded from their backs, ending in saws, cutting torches, and a hundred other things that Shitara couldn't identify. They were terrifying and Shitara began pulling at her restraints, desperately wanting to get free. Floating balls of something hummed around the room and one went directly in front of Shitara, hovering just in front of her.

It was a skull, and it looked like a human one, but with electronics and mechanical pieces added to it. A red light scanned her from the 'eye' and then it hummed away, going onto another manacled prisoner. The ones walking behind the metal men looked like they were human or Batarian, but they were wearing what looked like bio-hazard suits and waving...incense burners as they moved. The most fearsome though, were what came after them and set themselves around the bay.

Metallic spiders screeching to each other in that grating noise that the metal men had done when they had first entered. They had weapons instead of arms or hands and they clacked as they walked, their metal legs striking hard and scoring the deck where they stepped. Soulless red eyes watched everything and everyone, their weapons clicking and cycling towards any movement and all of them had a cogwheel with a grinning skull in the centre of the chests.

Shitara was not usually too prone to fear, but when she had seen these...things come into the hold, she felt the icy tendrils of fear grip her chest and make her break out into a nervous sweat. Her heart rate increased when one of the red robed metal men began to roll towards her. She began to breath fast and shallow as she saw its face for the first time. A mass of tubes and metal, all hissing and gurgling in their function. Archaic and advanced at the same time. Shitara screamed as the first of the melachantrites extended and reached out towards her.

Angeline stood silently on the hangar bay floor, her bolter's safety on and her weapon pointed towards the floor. Her pilot light was off too.

She had swept through the xenos like they hadn't even been there, their impurity shining through as she easily dispatched them with righteous fury. She had been outraged and jubilant to learn that they had found humans in the bay of the ship. Xenos slaving humans. It sickened her to her very core and her rage formed a hard ball in her stomach when she couldn't find an outlet for it. She had wanted to tear open the doors and free them to bring them back under, or into the Imperial fold and the Emperor's light. Singing hymns and delivering them to the medicae teams that were even waiting now in the cavernous space of the hangar bay of the _Herald_.

Fighters both atmospheric and void based hung suspended above them in their racks, or held firm to the deck a little ways in the distance. There were also gunships, Valkyries, and all manner and sorts of shuttles and other aircraft to use. Munitions, repair stations, refuelling stations, and various other things necessary to make the craft work were scattered about, not nearly as much as would have been on a ship dedicated to such a task, but still a great amount. Large Imperial Aquillas dominated both ends of the hangar and hung at intervals along the bulkhead. Scripture carved into stone tablets encouraging hard work and devotion were hung at odd intervals.

To see such a display of Imperial might and faith would have no doubt inspired them and made them grateful to the Imperium and sympathetic to its ideals and sympathy would lead to faith and subservience. That had been before though that she had known that there weren't just humans aboard.

Xenos shared the same space as the perfection that was humanity and had attempted to pollute it with their filth. It made the ball of hatred in her stomach hard and heavy and made Angeline want to just scream, or more likely tear some xenos apart with her chainsword. Or her bare hands. Suffer not the xenos to live, and yet she was being forced to stand idly by on orders from the inquisitor. The humans among them would be given medical treatment and welcomed into the fold with open arms. The xenos however, would be given to the Mechanicus. The biologis of the Mechanicus. Better that they simply burn the xeno scourge, but she grudgingly accepted Nyxos's words.

How better to destroy your enemy than to know its every weakness? She understood, but that didn't mean she liked it. She didn't like it one bit. She resisted the urge to blow the xenos apart as they came down the ramp they had put to the exit door of the smooth ship.

They came blinking done the ramp, human intermingled with scaled avian things, blue she-devils and amphibious heathens. They came shepherded by both Inquisitional Storm Trooopers and the bestial red-robed skitarri. The priests of the Mechanicus trundled along after them.

The mass of beings, both human and xeno looked unsure and fearful, gazing around at their surroundings in awe and trepidations. _As they should, _thought Angeline. In front of them, before any aid station or medical personnel, or even any other armed guards, was Nyxos himself.

Dressed in full Imperial regalia, with a raised and furred collar and luxurious coat of dark green, he stood in knee high leather riding boots and black pants. He was without a hat this time, but he was armed with both his power rapier and a plasma pistol on his belt. His clothing was bulky and exquisitely made, offering both comfort, protection, and style. Angeline especially liked the furred collar, it went well with the coat. Behind the inquisitor, to top it all off was a giant unfurled banner with a bold, black, Imperial Aquilla behind him, gold tassells streaming from the edges. He looked every bit of Imperial authority and power. A dozen of his black suited cultists stood behind him, hellguns held at parade attention, but ready to bring them forward in an instant.

"Let me be the first to welcome you aboard his Imperial Majesty's ship _Herald_," began Nyxos, speaking in Low Gothic and addressing the entire crowd, xenos included. "I am regretfully sorry for the ordeal that you have had to go through in both the slaver's care and that of the staff of my own ship. It was no way to treat survivors of such a traumatic experience and let me assure you that your time of hardship and suffering at the hands of those brutes is at an end." There was some cheering, some of it human, some xeno, but most stood and stared or looked around curiously. They did not know who these people were or what they represented. They were speaking English, more or less, so the translator was able to piece together what he was saying. The humans present had never seen the design of the ship before, nor did they know of any Imperial Majesty from Earth, unless these people meant the Japanese Emperor or some other royal family. But what was with the bird? What was with the way they were dressed? This was strange and there was no way that this was an Alliance ship. The transport tug could fit in it for gods sake and there were ships bigger than it hanging from the ceiling!

A xeno, apparently the chosen speaker of the group came forward and began to speak. It was one of the avian thing that spoke and it hurt Angeline's ears to hear such alien sounds and she wanted nothing more than to blow it to bloody chunks, yet she refrained from doing so. A curious look came over Nyxos's face and he spoke very carefully, and politely after the xeno had finished speaking.

"I fear that I do not have the proper...translation equipment to understand what this gentleman here has just said. If someone here could speak the same language as me come forward and translate what this gentleman has just said, it would be most appreciated." A human was pushed to the front and he went to stand beside the avian creature. He looked a little nervous, but eventually spoke.

"Well, Mr. Tarrin says that we're grateful for what you've done and that you have our thanks, but he says that he doesn't know who you are or who you represent. Frankly, I don't either. I mean I'm human, but I've never heard of any Imperial Majesty, or seen anything like, this," said the man gesturing around.

"Oh, I feared that there might have been something like this come up," said Nyxos apologetically. "Myself and my associates here are representatives of the Imperium of Mankind and we are servants of the God-Emperor of mankind. We have travelled far to bring you the Emperor's light and tell you that the Imperium is now aware of your plight and will be coming in force as soon as we are able to send word back. The grand cruiser _Herald _is now merely the vanguard of your salvation." There were some nervous looks amongst the assembled rescued slaves and looks of confusion. Especially among the humans who merely shrugged their shoulders when asked about what this 'Imperium' was. The avian xeno spoke again and the man translated.

"What do you mean by our salvation?" asked the man with a curious look on his face. "Aren't you going to tell the authorities about us and take us back into Citadel Space? Who are you, and...what is all of this? None of us know what's going on and...well...we don't really know what to make of all this."

"All good questions and all will be answered in good time," said Nyxos clapping his hands together. "But for now I believe that you are all in need of medical attention, food, a hot shower, and a good nights sleep. We will alert both the Systems Alliance and Citadel authorities and they will be along in due time to collect you and take you back home. Now, let's get you sorted out," said Nyxos jubilantly.

"Stormtroopers armed with stamps and ink pads made their way through the crowd, with blue and red ink pads. Blue aquillas for the humans, red cogs for everything else. There was some confusion and raised objections, some of the humans complaining about something called rights. Interesting concept as they weren't Imperial citizens and therefore had none. Those who were slow to separate were 'encouraged' by the stormtroopers. It was working out nice and smoothly, the humans heading towards the medicae and the xenos heading towards the waiting Mechanicus group. Things would have went a lot smoother had Angeline not seen something that turned her blind with rage.

A human and one of the blue she-devils were being parted and seemed to be speaking to each other. That made Angeline angry, but that habit could be broken easily enough once the human male was shown the correct path. What she couldn't forgive, was when they kissed, deep and passionately. Angeline's vision narrowed and her thought processes stopped as all consuming righteous fury took over and her bolter was up in an instant. Safety off and targeting reticules finding their mark.

"HERETIC!" screamed Angeline with pious rage and fired a burst of consecrated bolt shells at both the xeno and traitorous human. They exploded into puffs of blood and chunks of flesh as the depleted uranium explosive bolts tore them to pieces. Purple for the xeno and red for the human. After that, the whole scene exploded into absolute chaos as people, both human and xeno, screamed and began to panic. The avian xenos remained remarkably calm about the whole affair though, showing military discipline which Angeline would have given grudging respect to had she been in a charitable mood.

The stormtroopers and skitarri restored order in short order though, using the butts of their rifles and shock mauls to get their cooperation. Eventually the two groups were seperated again, but now they were just as wary of the Imperials as they had been of the slavers. Angeline saw Nyxos making his way calmly over to her.

"I think that I'll leave you out of more sensitive situations like this sister. Where your skills as a warrior and faith in the Emperor, won't make themselves so clearly known," said Nyxos pushing the barrel of her bolter down that she didn't even realize were still pointed towards the xenos. Pity she hadn't kept shooting.

AN: I was wondering if I overdid it with the whole scene on the bridge, but the last chapter had a lot of doom and gloom in it so I decided to make this one at least a little more fun and I've always seen an inquisitors retinue as a sort of dysfunctional family. Albeit a kind of happy one. Also sorry about the song, seemed appropriate, but I suck at lyrics. Also I don't think that I'm going to have the _Herald _show up too much, because a grand cruiser is just OP as hell in Mass Effect. For those of you wondering, Angeline said "Suffer not the xeno to live. Be purified with flame." On a side note, I really haven't decided if I want Shepard to be a girl or a boy so if someone has a suggestion I have an idea for either, so I'm prepared to do either or. I think I did a neat little juxtaposition with the characters I chose for the Inquisitor's retinue. Some of them are similar to those in mass effect and some aren't so kudos to those who can find their doubles. :) Also, thank you for the ungodly amount of reviews, I love it. This is the fastest I've ever updated, not to mention of this length.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sheparding the Flock**

Nyxos stood immobile, watching the vastness of the void stretch before him in a dark expanse, so vast and large that simply could not be comprehended by human minds. It was always humbling to stare at the inky blackness, broken by pinpricks of light. It was calm, peaceful, and it helped him think clearly at times when he would rather sit down and cry. This was one of those times, and Nyxos for one of the very rare times in his long life, didn't know what to do.

He was on an Imperial capital ship larger than anything these backwards primitives had ever made, or could ever dream of making. These asari, turians, salarians, bastardized humans, and countless other xenos species. He had an army, a veritable fleet, technology they couldn't dream of, and nearly every advantage he could ever think of. Besides the fact that he was utterly alone in this...place.

The holy rites of the Adeptus Mechanicus had coaxed vast amounts of information from both the batarian slaver's ship and a web of information flowing around them, that Nyxos didn't begin to try to comprehend. Nyxos had never had such a treasure trove of information at his fingertips, just a keystroke away. The Inquisitorial archives could match it, but the volumes could be hard to find. Some intentionally for their secrets too terrible to be read by mortal eyes, and others through simply laxity. Millions of tomes of information just a keystroke away now, it was glorious. It satiated his cravings to know like nothing else ever had. It allowed him to drink until he could no more, then try to take another sip. Like a man dying of thirst will drink when he finds a well till the blessed liquid runs down his chin and neck in his haste to drink, and drink Nyxos did.

There had been many shocking and revolting things available on the intangible information network, not the least of which was the fact that the humans here had the absolute _gall _to call their home world Earth. The sacred name of Holy Terra, defiled by these backwards xenos lovers, literally in some cases. It sickened it to think of it, but it was there, it was all there. In shockingly detailed and documented flowing text, complete with pictures. Countless vids and pics of xenos and humans fornicating on the one library source called Fornax. Nyxos had almost destroyed the blessed monitor in outrage after seeing those images.

These were dire and sickening omens of what this place had in store for him, but it wasn't enough to rob him of his decision making. He could deal with things like that, he had dealt with xeno empires before and crushed them with far worse odds than he did now. No, what disturbed him and robbed him of his Emperor given initiative was one simply fact. They were alone, completely and utterly alone.

There was no sister relay to the one that had brought them to this place, no doorway back to their world. Some would think that Nyxos was being overly dramatic and poetic when he said things like that, but he couldn't be more serious. He knew that they were in a new world, because the light of Terra, the light of the Emperor, was gone.

The bridge crew had been sworn to secrecy upon pain of death and terrible torture and already several of the lesser navigators had to be killed because of their mad rantings about the death of the Emperor. They had clawed and begged and whimpered, moping aimlessly and screaming at any who came close until they had been saved from their misery. Some of the stronger willed navigators were still alive and were taking the news hard, but had maintained their sanity.

Without the guiding light of the Astronomicon, they could not travel using the warp. They were stuck using sub-light engines and moving at a galactic snail's pace. They could not risk using the so-called Element Zero engine, because it would light off the entire network back to the Citadel and there was too high a chance of them being detected and documented once they used a relay. Alone, cutoff, Nyxos didn't fancy his odds at fighting a galaxy worth of warships. Even if they were crewed by barbaric and filthy xenos. Nyxos sighed and leaned his head against the glass of the observation tower. He was going to the end to find his beginning, but he still didn't know if that was a prudent move or merely a hopeful action, tyring to find a justification for his venture. As if he was simply tyring to seem productive. Nyxos hardly registered the elevator door opening behind him or the soft patter of feel behind him.

"Nyxos, are you alright?" asked a concerned feminine voice behind him. Nyxos turned to see sister Angeline standing politely behind him in her russet robes. She seemed so small when not in her consecrated armour and holy bolter in her hand. She was not an exceptionally tall woman, only 5'6" and she had to look up to see him in the eyes like this. He almost sent her away, but it was warming to know that she was concerned. He had barely spoken to anyone these past few weeks and people were no doubt starting to worry.

"I am perfectly well Angeline, thank you for asking. If there a reason for your visit?"

"No, merely concerned for your well-being," said Angeline, her eyes flicking away from his as she said it. A sign of lying and nervousness.

"Please, let us be frank Angeline. If you have something on your mind than by all means please say it."

Angeline seemed to hesitate for a moment, before speaking.

"I wish to apologize for my actions in the hangar when we first took control of the xenos ship. It was unbefitting of a Sororitas and a member of an Inquisitor's retinue. I allowed my emotions to rule my actions and caused havoc in what should have been a simple matter. Even as I apologize though, I can not help but feel this...anger that such a thing to have transpired. Human and xeno together, like that...I could not bear to see it. I could not let it go and for that I am sorry. I have prayed for forgiveness and will suffer self-flagellation if you so deem it necessary."

"My dear Angeline, you have nothing to apologize for," said Nyxos cupping the side of her face with his hand and feeling her stiffen then relax at his touch, tracing his thumb along her jaw. "You acted in a way befitting a Sororitas and a true member of the Imperium. Were it not that I am weighed down with so many unpleasant tasks, I too would have done the same."

"Your work seems hard Nyxos, I do not believe that I could do it. Keep a false face in front of such abominations. To smile and cajole them, it is simply not possible for me to do. I do not envy you in that task, but I do respect you for it all the same."

"It is hard the things that I must do for the Emperor's Imperium, things that I am neither proud of nor wish for people to laud me for. It is simply what must be done and I am the one who must do it. Do you ever question why you must fight Angeline? Why you must kill, why you must smite all those who do not follow the Emperor's light?"

"Not even once," said Angeline, almost indignantly, the fervour of devotion beginning to light emerald fires in her eyes. "Those who go against him on Terra are below contempt, they are too far gone for mercy, they-"

"It was not a test sister," said Nyxos taking his hand away.

"Forgive me please," said Angeline apologetically.

"There is no need," said Nyxos. "I believe that I have a confession for you though sister."

"Here?" asked Angeline surprised. "I have not prepared to take a confession. If you wish I could get a partition and sacramental wine, as well as holy water and-"

"I believe the couch will be enough for now," said Nyxos striding confidently to a comfortable looking couch and sitting down. Angeline followed and took a seat not too far from where Nyxos took his, her robes rustling together as she took her seat, hair and eyes bright in the gloom of the observation deck.

"Angeline-"

"Sister Angeline if you would Inquisitor, I am your representative to the God Emperor and as informal as this is, I will not do away with all of the traditions."

"As you will, Sister Angeline."

"Proceed with your confession Nyxos, and let your words be judged by the Emperor's unwavering gaze."

"Sister Angeline, would you believe me if I told you that I sometimes had doubts about what I did? That sometimes I didn't know if the end result was worth all the sacrifice to get it? That I was making a terrible mistake doing what I do?"

"To be human is to have doubt Inquisitor, to have reservations is to be mortal. Let not your rebellious thoughts do you harm, instead let your righteous actions herald your deeds as a champion of humanity."

"What is it like Sister Angeline, to see the world in black and white? For everything to be so clear and not become muddled in the grey area in which everything seems to fall. To not have doubt? I am very curious of this you see."

"It is liberating Nyxos, to be know one's place in the universe well. To have the strength of the God Emperor give you strength in turn. All are guilty of some crime and under the Emperor's gaze, those crimes come to the fore and are laid bare for those who would deliver his justice. It give a freedom of thought that so few ever have to experience. There is no doubt, for their is only one path and that is the Emperor's."

"You are an astounding woman Angeline, I hope you realize that," said Nyxos in an odd way.

"All Sororitas are chosen for their piety and devotion to the Emperor at a young age. I am sure that any Sororitas you met would fill you with similar awe and admiration."

"Your old canoness didn't," said Nyxos, his half smile playing across his lips briefly.

"She...was a dedicated woman and loyal without a doubt. I admire her for her devotion and piety as it was a shining example to others."

"Did you like her?"

"Not in the least, that bitch went so far as try and get me cast out for killing a church official who was collaborating with xenos. Xenos! She was always so stiff and rigid, you thought that her spine was a bell tower with a barbed steeple. She never smiled either, woman had no sense of humour. I'm sure her face would have cracked had she tried. And don't get me started on what she wore when that little toady from the munitorum came around. Oh, her robes were just low enough that you could drive a rhino through her cleavage and...uh, she was...a good...commander," said Angeline catching herself mid tirade, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she leaned back to her sitting position and away from Nyxos's face. Acting like she was still a novitiate talking about the other girls with quiet whispers and giggles. Who had the most acne and other mundane and childish things like that. She folded her hands primly in her lap and cleared her throat quickly.

"Quite the opinion of your canoness Angeline hm?" asked Nyxos amused.

"I should not have said that, it was not befitting of a Sororitas to speak of her canoness in such a way."

"True, but she's not your canoness anymore is she Angeline?" A faint smile played across Angeline's lips as Nyxos said it.

"No she's not, and I'm grateful to you for it Nyxos. Truly I am. When you found me in that dungeon, it was only a matter of time before I found myself in there for some other reason. I am quite, wilful."

"A wilful person is a sign of strong convictions and a sharp mind. You should be proud of that fact Angeline, it's part of what makes you such a great warrior and a great subordinate or leader. You're willing to push ahead, do what needs to be done, and stand your ground despite what stands in your way. I admire that in a woman Angeline and I almost think that I see a little of myself in you. I admire you, Angeline.

"Thank you Inquisitor, but back to the matter at hand, you-what are you doing?" demanded Angeline as Nyxos's hand made it's way onto her thigh.

"Am I making you uncomfortable sister?" Even in the dark, Nyxos could see his mistake clearly. The pale cheeks of the sister were flushing a deep crimson out of a mixture of embarrassment and rage. She stood up sharply, hands flexing as she did so.

"You, you, during a confessional?!" sputtered Angeline in anger, her voice rising. "Did you think me some common harlot that you could get a sympathetic coupling for a few sweet words? You have profaned a sacred and holy ceremony with this act!"

"Do you forgive me sister?" asked Nyxos coyly. "Or do I need to confess my sins again?" Angeline looked as if she would strike him, before her features softened and she turned away with a sound of exasperation.

"I need to go pray," said Angeline simply, making her way swiftly back towards the elevator. Nyxos had his half-smile in place as she cast one final look his way before the door closed, taking her from view.

Joan was sitting and picking at her food in the mess when someone took a seat next to her on the bench. She looked over nervously as her only neighbour at the table in the busy mess and wasn't sure whether to relax or become more worried when she saw that it was Svetlana who had taken a seat beside her. The blonde's purple eyes twinkling as she munched contentedly on a piece of jerky.

There was a mess hall on nearly every deck, but this mess was for the pilots and mechanics of the _Herald, _as well as those who worked or laboured at a job worthy of note on the deck. So that being said, Svetlana should not have been in the pilot's mess with its pictures of old and famous aircraft and pilots dotting the walls, with the air wing's motto and crest daubed on the far wall. Below only the Imperial aquilla in height. There were no inspirational phrases here though, no words to encourage hard work, the designers knowing it to be a waste of time and paint, because no one would be looking up when it was chow time.

"Morning Ginge, sleep well?" asked the cheery arbite. Joan just continued to pick at her food, not really hungry and careful not to move her aching body too much. Hopefully Svetlana would get the message and just leave.

"Not happy to see me or something? Come on and at least say hi to me," said Svetlana slapping Joan heartily on the back in a friendly manner to which the young pilot yelped extraordinarily loudly in pain to and caused Svetalan to jerk back, as if she was the one who had been struck.

"I didn't hit you that hard, did I?" asked Svetlana concerned. Joan didn't answer, merely put down her utensils and tried to rise to leave.

"Hey wait," said Svetlana grabbing Joan's wrist to which the redhead hissed in pain to.

"Let go, haven't you done enough already?" asked Joan, clearly wanting to leave, but not pulling.

"Well talk to me at least and then I'll know what I did to you. Why the hell are you acting like you're made of glass?"

"Just let go of me and leave me alone," said Joan, very aware of the looks coming her way and wanting to leave before they finished their meals as well. Her more recent of friends, now not so friendly towards her and she wanted to be in a well lit and well recorded part of the ship before they finished.

"No, tell me what's going on," said Svetlana forcefully and pulled Joan down so that she was sitting again, even as she whimpered at the action.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" moaned Joan, sounding close to tears.

"Not till you tell me what's going on and-what's that?" asked Svetlana suddenly, all mirth and normal good cheer leaving her eyes. Her two purple orbs becoming hard and professional.

"It's nothing," said Joan quickly, but hissed again and made a noise of protest as Svetlana grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled back the long sleeve of the green flight suit. It revealed a pale, freckled arm that was splotched black and blue.

"How did this happen?"

"I fell," said Joan, feeling a sick feeling of anxiety and fear take root in her stomach and make her feel nauseous. She could feel the eyes of her former friends boring into the back of her skull and she wanted very much to leave.

"Into what? A flagellant procession using belts and fists? Throne, how bad is it?" asked Svetlana, pulling up the sleeve farther and revealing much of the same, as Joan watched the openly hostile looks she received from members of the crew.

"It's fine, it's hardly any-ah ow!" exclaimed Joan as Svetlana prodded her torso with professional hands. Every spot that she touched was tender and sore, even with the gentle touches that she seemed to be doing. During the whole time that she was prodding, Svetlana was watching Joan's face for reactions of either pain or discomfort. She did her best to hide them, but she had always been sensitive to pain and she wasn't very successful.

"Who did this to you?" asked Svetlana sternly.

"No one, I fell," said Joan looking nervously out of the corner of her eyes.

"Don't jerk me around Joan, I've seen bruises like this a million times in the arbites. Who did this to you and why?"

"I already told you I fell, what difference does it make?" demanded Joan.

"The difference is that the only part of you that isn't bruised is your face and hands, so my question is why? Don't frak with me on this Joan, why would someone do this to you? Well?" said Svetlana forcefully, her tone hard and unyielding.

"I...I..." said Joan, unsure what to do.

"Give me an answer Joan, or should I let Nyxos in on this too?"

"It's your fault," said Joan accusingly, looking downcast at her food.

"What?"

"My little sin? My transgression that you said you didn't give a frak about? Well it turns out that you might not, but a lot of other people do and they were really angry when they found out. They got me when I was sleeping a week ago. Eight of them gagged me and held me down before they laid into me. I could barely walk the next day and they said that if I told anyone they'd finish the job. Well apparently they weren't satisfied with one round and they got me again a few days ago. Throne, it feels like my bones are made of glass. I've been pissing blood for two days now, I think they hurt something inside. I feel like I'm going to pass out half the time and I can't hold any food down. I watch one vid, just one and now I'm an outcast. Just leave me alone would you? You've already done too much."

"Come with me, I'm taking you to see the medicae," said Svetlana standing.

"But they-"

"No buts, you're coming," said Svetlana, grabbing and pulling Joan forcefully, but gently to her feet. The freckled woman hissed as she was forced to her feet but didn't offer any real resistance.

"They're going to kill me for this," said Joan quietly, looking back at the table full of glaring crewmen and women.

"No they're not," said Svetlana confidently. "You'll be just fine."

"How do you know that?" questioned Joan warily, not believing Svetlana despite her promises to the contrary.

"Well because," began Svetlana. "You're part of the team now Joan, and if anyone tries to hurt you," said Svetlana turning so her purple eyes were locked with Joan's. "I'll tear their frakking throat out with my bare hands." It was a bold statement, one that could get one arrested and thrown in the brig for even mentioning it and Joan believed every word of it too.

The walk to the infirmary was a painful, shambling one and when they got there, they saw the extent of the damage. Mottled black and blue and yellow from ankle to collarbone the young pilot had been worked over thoroughly both times she had been beat. How she was standing and walking about astounded the medicae staff, though Joan admitted that she had been taking some common pain relievers like candy to make it through the day, before collapsing on her bed as soon and often as she was able to.

Thankfully none of the damage done to the freckled pilot was permanent, but the bruising was severe which would take her off her feet for a few days. Fortunately, no bones had been broken or fractured, but Joan's kidneys were bruised and the doctor on duty gave her a supply of some juice and pills. The juice because it would be easy on her kidneys and liver, the pills to help her body heal faster from the bruising. Joan was given a small amount of painkillers and a short physical to determine her health and all the while Svetlana stood in the corner of the room in a simple pair of slacks and shirt just watching, purple eyes giving away nothing.

They gave Joan a strong shot of a pain suppressing drug before sending her on her way and as she and Svetlana left the infirmary, Joan was already smiling gaily from the drugs.

"They really don't like me," giggled Joan as she saw a group naval ratings down the hallway. "One of them was even part of the group that got me," said Joan, surprisingly chipper for one talking about such things. Svetlana put one of her arms lightly around the woman's shoulders, mindful of her injuries and guided her away from the naval personnel.

"How would you like to get a different room Joan?" asked Svetlana casually.

"But I like mine," protested Joan still smiling.

"Yeah I know, but I don't think you should stay on this deck anymore."

"No?"

"No."

"But where would I go to? My Valkyrie is too far away to sleep in and I don't want to be far away from it. It gets lonely."

"Your Valkyrie gets lonely?"

"Yup, Susie doesn't like it when I'm gone," said Joan in her narcotic fuelled happy train of thought.

"Well...my room's close to Susie so we'll be plenty close to her so she won't get lonely. Let's go get your stuff and get you moved," said Svetlana guiding Joan down towards her room.

"Like a sleepover?" asked Joan happily.

"Like a sleepover," agreed Svetlana.

"I like sleepover's, are we going to watch a vid?"

"Sure, as long as it isn't the one that got you in trouble," said Svetlana cheekily.

"Oh no, I got rid of that one out of the bunch."

"Good, so then we-what do you mean out of the bunch?" asked Svetlana curiously.

"Oh I've got lots of vids like that," said Joan gaily. "I've got ones that involve the Guard, Sororitas, Space Marines, delivery boys, delivery girls, MILFS, universariat students, Arbites, Inquisition, Mechanicus, last one is a little weird mind you," cautioned Joan sagely to Svetlana before giggling again. "There are some places melachantrites were just never meant to go." Joan giggled again.

"How many of these...vids do you have?"

"Um, about this many," said Joan mimicking with her arms the dimensions of a footlocker. "Right to the top too."

"Why do you need so many?" asked Svetlana incredulous.

Joan shrugged her shoulders as much as she was able before becoming enraptured by a lumo rod for a moment. She stared at it wide eyed and happy for a moment before turning back to Svetlana, her pupils clearly dilated. Svetlana had worked narcotics before and she knew the signs. The medicae had given her a very strong shot of painkillers that were going to put Joan to sleep in a few minutes, but until then Joan would be high as frak.

"I get lonely sometimes."

"A footlocker?"

"I get lonely a lot," said Joan after a moment's pause, before she found that also extremely funny and giggled yet again. "Most of the time I just watch though. It's not like every time I watch one I-"

"That's all I need to know," said Svetlana quickly cutting off the conversation and guiding the giddy pilot to her room. Joan rambled a bit more, but for the most part seemed content to just look at things and smile.

Joan's room was much the same as many others of people of similar importance on the _Herald._ She had a small room to herself with a few personal possessions to herself, but for the most part the room was neat and orderly and up to standard. Even the footlocker at the end of her bed was squared away properly. Svetlana decided not to touch that.

"Okay so just tell me what you need for tonight and I'll carry it to my room for you," said Svetlana patiently.

"I'm tired," said Joan suddenly, her eyelids drooping and her shoulders slumping forwards. She looked longingly at the bed with dilated eyes.

"Well you can sleep in just a little bit okay? But first I need you to grab some of your stuff."

"I'll do it later," said Joan wearily, collapsing on her bed boots and all. "I'll just...sleep for now." Before Svetlana could protest, Joan was fast asleep.

"Great," said Svetlana running a hand through her hair. She couldn't leave Joan alone with half the crew wanting to show their piety by beating the tar out of her and she couldn't get any sort of productive work out of her by forcing her to work, so she simply sat down on the only available space in the room. The footlocker.

"If this is sticky I swear by the Throne I'll burn these clothes," huffed Svetlana as she sat, chin resting in on her fist, her other hand resting on the butt of her hell pistol. Purple spheres glued to the doorway.

Machines sucked and beeped and hissed and clattered in the Mechanicus shrine, as the priests of the biologis sect of the Mechanicus poked and prodded with scientifically enthused sadistic glee. Everything they did was documented in the most intimate of detail, down to the last nanometre of depth in a cut, or the amount of force required to break the skin to a thousand decimal places. Their findings were shared and stored, filed away for later reference by the interconnected intelligence that they could use at will.

Imagine a child's graphical picture book on anatomy. Every page you turn takes away an old layer and reveals the next and if you flip the page back it replaces the first. A great visual guide for learning the basics of anatomy for developing minds and showing in sequential order the systems that allow a body to work. The Mechanicus did something similar to learn off of, except that they used real cadavers and the asari held up in stasis, separated into the various layers of her anatomy by a skilled surgeons hand. Or in this case, a melachantrite.

The magos who had overseen the dissection send a code impulse and the first layer, the skin of the asari floated away from the whole. The magos studied it with a scientific eye, documenting it all in intimate detail, before cycling to the next, and the next. Moving through the asari's remains so quickly, it seemed that the body was but a stack of cards being shuffled from one hand to the other, then back again. There were some moans and alien cries of pain from the other tables, where live dissections were taking place, without the benefit of pain killers so that the magos could better observe the nerve impulses of the different xenos species and how they travelled. The information web that they had discovered was a great starting guide to anatomy and how these alien bodies worked, but it could not compare with actual firsthand experience. Already they had learned and mapped the alien genomes, isolating the traits and genes that caused disease, early death, intelligence, or longevity.

They filed all they found away with careful precision, earmarking important findings so that they could be referenced with much more quickly than the standard documents. The magos cycled through the asari again, but was already becoming terribly bored. This was the seventh one he had dissected and he had learned nothing new. After the fifth he had stopped seeing any new variations or traits that were at all unique or that could come to the fore after enough mixing of genetic information. What he hadn't learned from dissection and study had been readily available from the large information network called the 'extranet' even if they had discarded giga quads of data as simple conjecture or junk information. No, what the magos wanted was to study a new species.

He could study the asari for many more years to learn every single nuance of their being, but the wealth of information available to him had sated the majority of his curiosity and now he wanted something new, something fresh. A remnant of human emotion remained in him that wanted something fresh, a new challenge, something that they had, but had been saving to the last. Dissecting a member of the other species would have done nothing for him and served no purpose, because he could access any and all notes available in the network and merely download all relevant information like he had done a week ago. No, he wanted the species that there was not a wealth of information about on in the information network. Where there would be no notes already made to merely skim through instead of doing actual research. No, what the magos wanted was the xeno they had only found one of, the member of the species that was now limited in number, or so the extranet said. He wanted the quarian.

Tracking the IFF tags of the skitarri, the magos ran an excitement simulation when he realized that they were only seconds away with the new batch of xenos, the quarian among them. The magos quickly ended the excitement simulation, but then reopened it and ran it again a moment later. He ran theory programs and formed hypothesis's of what he might find when he dissected the xeno, only to delete his hypothesis findings to create new ones, all based on conjecture and wishful computing, but encouraged by the excitement simulation. When the door did open, the magos was the first over to the new group, like an overeager child, eager to take the best treat for itself, his spider-like legs clacking hurriedly on the deck and making his appear half again as tall as a full grown human. The magos was irritated by the fear responses of the xenos though, but he cycled his eight augmetic eyes inside his hood to record it all the same. The red lenses changing to a ruddier hue of red as he did so.

The only preparation the magos had made for their arrival was the cleaning of the observation and the dissection tables. Leaving the previous test and study cadavers for open viewing to any who entered the door, in all its grisly detail. One overly enthused magos still had her surgical implements in a turian's cranium when the new batch of test subjects appeared.

The magos recorded their fear response, but found nothing new to document, having seen it many times before. Pupils dilated, heart rates increasing in a fight or flight response, nearly the same as humans save a few subtle differences. The turians among the group let out a sub vocal sound that they emitted when they felt threatened or frustrated, the salarians looked for a place to hide, or puffed themselves up, the Asari had energy levels build up in their bodies, but they all screamed. Some tried to run, some tried to fight, some regurgitated at the sight of their dissected kin, and a few even fainted. The skitarri kept all in line well enough though.

The xenos were all linked together in manacles and chains so that they were both impeded in movement and could not just simply scatter or run which would make the task of studying them all the more wearisome. Imagine if you had to catch the test animal every time you wanted to perform an experiment? Just absolutely ridiculous to even consider.

Even with all the confusion and hormone secretion from the xenos, the magos paid almost no attention to them. His attention, was focused entirely on the xeno that he knew nothing about. He scuttled over to the quarian and detached it from the line, even as it dug in its feet and pulled at him. It was speaking to him and he knew what it was saying, but he chose not to answer.

The xenos had all had a little translater in their ears, or what passed for ears and it was really a remarkable little piece of technology. It received the incoming language and if it was stored in the drive of the device, it took the speaker's voice and made it sound like them, but speaking a similar language. They had downloaded the languages with the proper translation software and the more machine-minded members of the Mechanicus were making copies for the inquisitor and his retinue at his request. They had balked at having to use xeno languages in Imperial technology, sharing in no part the biologis's enthusiasm for studying the xenos, or things of their make. Well, except for that scatterbrained Arch Magos Ovidiu.

A cursory examination of the quarian revealed it to be a quarian and to be a young adult. The little amounts of information that had been available on the extranet revealed that quarians lived about as long as non augmented humans for this sector, so about 150 years. Give or take.

A higher resolution scan revealed that the quarian was lacrimating behind its protective mask. Intersting, that meant tear ducts and quite possibly similar eyes and visual acuity as a non augmented human. It could also mean similar social behaviours behind such actions such as warning a family unit of danger and asking for help. Maybe even expelling a harmful buildup of stress hormones similar to cortisone. That was just a hypothesis though and only an in depth dissection and study would reveal the truth of the matter. How...exciting. The magos ran another excitement simulation for a moment, before he cancelled and deleted it. He really must focus more on his work and less on emotions, they were terribly distracting. He never could quite understand how non augmented humans could even manage simple tasks. It had been a long time since he himself had been one of them and his recollection of that time was fragmented at best.

He commanded a group of servitors to clear and clean his workstation with a burp of binary and the mixtures of human and machine went about their task obediently and efficiently without so much a moments hesitation. Ah, the perfection of the machine and flesh together as one. The magos sometimes went from variations of organic and machine parts over the years, replacing one when the other became worn out or too old to function properly. It was things like that that were the reason he had been put in biologis. He just loved flesh, blood, organic substances, and the like. The machine held joy for him, but it was the flesh that his processors belonged to.

A few short moments later and the struggling quarian was firmly secured to the table and multiple melachantrites unfurled and became ready from the insides of his robes. He had prepared special cocktails of different drugs meant for a plethora of reasons and it had been a challenge to get the formulas right for a being based off of a dextro amino acid system. It was a new kind of challenge when he had to work like this and he enjoyed a good challenge as much as he could really enjoy anything.

The monomolecular blade was just about to begin the process of dissection, when an burp of machine code came in over the shared information net from Archmagos Ovidiu saying that he wanted to talk in person about matters relating to the experimental element zero drive and he would like his opinion on the matter and to possibly share theories and work on the problem together. It was illogical and inefficient, meeting in person. It would have been far easier and taken only a slimmest fraction of the time to communicate through binary over the group thought, but it was not to be. Another reminder of Ovidiu's continued association with those who knew nothing of the Omnissiah's glory. With something akin to irritation, the magos accepted Ovidiu's invitation and left the shrine to go and meet with the Archmagos. After detailing several skitarri and servitors to guard his prize so that no other enthusiastic servant of the Omnissiah took his prize from him.

The shrine was not far from the enginarium and the spidery magos made good time through the wide hallway's of the _Herald. _Those who saw him parting in fear or revulsion at his form, while those enlightened parted out of respect. It was the beginning of the day cycle and the magos had to dim down his eye sensors so that he could more easily see in the brighter areas. He preferred the dimness of the shrine, the almost cloak of darkness that pervaded the room save for the glowing of instruments and optical sensors.

The harsh sound of metal striking metal accompanied the magos as his only companion, his red robes flowing as his spidery legs propelled him as fast as they were able, without making it seem that he was running. Just a person eager to get where they were going quickly and knew where they were going. When he found Ovidiu, he bowed low in respect and messaged him in flawless verbal binary.

"_I have come as you have requested Archmagos and am eager to help serve you in your current endeavour." _It was a short and harsh burp of sound that was barely more than a short screech, but verbal greetings were very official and almost ceremonial. So it was with surprise when the Archmagos not only answered him verbally, but did so in low gothic with his irritating double voice.

"Ah, Magos Nulin, I am pleased that you could make it," warbled the two voices together as Ovidiu stood before the giant contained and pulsing mass of energy that was their ships element zero engine. "I have learned that this type of drive system is capable of using FTL travel without the need of entering the warp. It is a most intriguing discovery. Slower to be sure, but much faster than our current rate of travel. I have gotten the theory down, but unfortunately the application is proving a tad more difficult than I had expected. Would you happen to be able to assist me in this mater?" asked Ovidiu politely and inefficiently. Nulin bristled at the use of waste of communicating by verbal means. There was a barely perceptible sound of metal clicking together as Nulin's mandibles clicked together in annoyance inside his hood.

"I am afraid that i cannot asssisst you Archmagoss," hissed out Nulin, his mandibles making Low Gothic much harder to speak in. "My sspeciality liess in the flessh, not in the machine. Now if there iss nothing elsse, I must return to my disssection,"said Nulin, bowing again.

"Oh, and what are you dissecting Magos?"

"Quarian," said Nulin, his optical sensors glowing a brighter red as he said it, like fiery coals. Unable to contain an excitement simulation.

"Quarian?" questioned Ovidiu suddenly more interested, his double voice taking on a more involved tone.

"Yess."

"The ones who excel at engineering and machinery?"

"Yess, honoured Archmagoss," said Nulin, suddenly wary.

"Most excellent, bring the xeno here at once, I believe that I will require it help in this matter." The eye optics of Nulin lit up like hot coals and his melachantrites half extended themselves in outrage.

"A xeno working on the holy machiness of the Omnissssiah? Are you mad? Thiss iss heressy!" hissed out Nulin venomously. A blast of binary so pure, so well combined, so well strung together and fluent, stung Nulin's receivers and momentarily overpowered his processing systems. He heard Ovidiu loudly and clearly.

"_I am empowered by the Inquisition, by the God Emperor of Mankind, by the Omnissiah himself in this endeavour and I will not be questioned by one such as you magos. You will comply. I will decide what is techno-heresy and I will decide who is mad. Now, comply and run emotional simulation a-b1-5bp. Your compliance in this mission is required, your approval is not. Now go," _commanded Ovidiu, raising himself up and pounding at Nulin's receivers with binary commands so advanced, there was no choice but to comply.

On skittering metal legs, Nulin beat a hasty retreat out of the enginarium and back to the Mechanicus shrine, nearly running over several crewmembers in the process, his metal legs merely a blur as he moved, moving at maximum locomotion. When he entered the shrine, the quarian quailed to see his again and with a burst of binary he had the skitarri free it. He ordered them to take it to the Archmagos and they complied obediently, like true servants of the Omnissiah. He had run the emotional simulation as requested, but activated another subconsciously. His processing systems responding to his animalistic desires. Anger.

He grabbed another asari as a substitute for the quarian and began the dissection quickly to quell his angry run-times. So eager was he to begin, that Dulin overlooked several procedures necessary for a clean dissection. Such as making sure the cadaver is dead or unconscious before making the first cut. The asari squealed high and shrill as the monomolecular blade ran the width of her body, taking her apart layer by layer.

The bed was a mess of twisted sheets and tossed about pillows. Blankets were on the floor, with some still hanging onto the bed by their edges, though in danger of falling to the floor as well. Preposterously loud snoring filled the cabin, choking and starting like an old piston powered motor that was backfiring and catching at odd intervals. Pieces of armour and clothing, by contrast, were hung up neatly on the walls and in their proper places as opposed to the abused bedding. Speaking of an organized individual, or at least one who had had some sense of discipline beaten into them by either parents or some encompassing organization like the military or a police force.

The person on the bed was half slumped over the edge of it and with each breath that she took, a lock of fiery red hair would be drawn towards her mouth, only to be expelled with the forceful and hiccoughing release of air as she snorted out her used up oxygen. She was clad only in a black tee-shirt and black pair of panties, a logo with a simple N7 adorned both articles of clothing. Her foot twitched idly while she slept. Like a big, redheaded, 29 year old resurrected from the dead woman-child. A harsh ringing sounded abruptly and the woman woke with a start and crashed to the floor with a cry of surprise, startling the fish in her gigantic tank farther off to the side in her personal cabin.

"Good morning Commander Shepard, it is currently 6:30am like you requested your wake up call," chimed the feminine voice of EDI from the wall speakers.

"Thank you EDI," said Jane Shepard sitting up and rubbing at her neck, brushing her unruly hair to the side where it belonged. Jane yawned and stretched, rising from her crashed position on the floor she went to the bathroom and made herself presentable for the crew, even if her crew were Cerberus.

Jane had never been one to stand on ceremony, finding the marching bands and colourful hats so favoured by the military to be simply a waste of time and good polish. She had never gone around wearing her dress uniform in the crew quarters or when she had needed to do tasks aboard the ship. It was stiff, itchy, and got in the way of what needed to be done.

Jane had been told more than once that her laid back attitude was no way for an officer to behave, and that she would never gain the respect that she needed to maintain control of those under her command with such a nonchalant attitude and unassuming demeanour. What her instructors hadn't taken into account though was the fire that Jane had inside of her.

She took most things in stride and not much rattled her, usually just going with the flow of things and not causing too much of a fuss. However, when she was in the field or she had a challenge raised against her, she didn't just rise to the occasion, she rose above it. Jane had never been one to simply give in when the going got tough. In fact, it seemed that the harder things got the more determined she was to win. The harder life swung back at her, Jane would swing back just as hard, offering proclivities about fate's mother and its possible promiscuous activities. Hell, she had even died, but that had only slowed her down for two years.

It had been strange being dead, there was really no other way to describe it than that. The cold, the dark, the nothing. There had been other things as well, but for the most part she had no recollection of what had happened. She didn't follow her mother's faith, or her father's, but she didn't have anything against someone needing something to believe in to make them feel better. Jane had no god to speak of, no deity that she offered prayers to, especially after her not so near death experience. There had been no pearly gates for her, no flames of hell, no final judgement, just a sense of...floating. Like she had been a piece of flotsam adrift in a fast flowing river that she had no control over. It hadn't been entirely unpleasant, like she had been in a comfortable and hazy sleep and half-awake at the same time, like she had been just on the verge of waking up from a long and deep sleep, but not quite able to.

Jane felt her cheek itch and scratched at the _glowing _orange scar on her jaw. It wasn't that big and got smaller with every passing day, but it was completely unfair to play hide and seek when her face was a nightlight. Made finding her way to the bathroom in the dark easy though. It always started to itch whenever she started having gloomy thoughts. Odd that. She had been told that the scars would have healed on their own, but as it stood they responded to her emotional state and negative thoughts would not only cause them to stick around, but grow like a cancer across her face. The itching disappeared though with her off-key singing in the shower as she sang whatever song was stuck in her head at the time, sometimes switching at random when she couldn't remember anymore lyrics for the song.

Jane picked at the Cerberus logo on her sleeve as she rode the elevator down to the CIC. It felt offensive to have such a symbol of hate on her arm, especially given that most of her friends were aliens. She didn't like using the term _nonhuman _political correctness be damned, because it felt so damned clinical and official. Like she was separating out those who were human and those that weren't into two different categories like some damned space Nazi. Hell, she was as much an alien to the likes of Garrus and Tali as they were to here. She didn't get offended when she was called an alien, just had a moment of confusion when she was called one.

Cerberus. The three-headed guard dog to the Underworld and Hades in old Greek mythology. Now the name had been adopted by those who sought to supposedly protect humanity from everything nonhuman. What a joke. The only thing they were protecting were their own bigotry.

"Good morning commander, you have unread messages at your terminal," said Kelly, the cheerful if somewhat naive redheaded yeoman/secretary/spy(who wasn't much of one)/therapist. She was a nice enough girl who seemed out of place in Cerberus. In fact, most of the crew did. They weren't your expected Bubba Joe redneck who hated absolutely everyone of a different species, more like people who had gotten fed up with the bureaucracy of the Systems Alliance and had decided to go with the only people who were actually doing a damned thing about all of the disappearing colonies.

"Thanks Kelly," said Jane politely. She liked to check her mail before she ate breakfast, something of a morning ritual for her.

"Junk, junk, junk, more junk, don't need those pills," said Jane idly as her light green eyes flicked over the different messages displayed on her console. "Yes, because Salarians obviously have princes," said Jane rolling her eyes. "Hello, what's this?" asked Jane curiously, opening up a news article that had been sent to her by someone just marked as, _a friend._ It was marked for one standard week ago.

Sources are still unsure as to the fate of retired Major Tarrin, who according to last know sources chartered his own yacht and headed into the Terminus system for a pleasure cruise with several friends and high ranking executives from the company, Talon Arms. A major supplier of private security equipment in the form of arms and armour. Jane skipped over a section that described the private and business life of Tarrin and kept reading when it actually became useful again.

All of this in light of recent discovery of wreckage from ships belonging to a known Batarian slaving ring, discovered in the Terminus system only one system distant from the infamous Omega. Sources refuse to comment on what may have happened, but experts speculate that the famed, 'pirate queen' of Omega asserted her power over the region and destroyed the ships, taking the slave ship for herself. Citadel diplomats are discussing possible political action and the Turian Hierarchy is demanding immediate return of retired Major Tarrin, or they will quote, "Take all necessary action to ensure that retired Major Tarrin is brought safely back home." Sources went on to say- Jane stopped reading after that.

"Now that is interesting," mumbled Jane to herself as she stared at the picture of the turian in the photo. Last seen two weeks ago, or so the news-feed claimed.

"Did you need something Commander?" asked Kelly from her own station, ever helpful and cheery.

"No, just talking to myself Kelly. I think that I'm going to get something to eat," said Shepard heading for the elevator. She hoped that Gardener's cooking had improved dramatically in the past twelve hours, but she severely doubted it.

Jane had been told by more than one person that she had an extremely healthy appetite and that she should slow down and stop eating so much or else she would blow up like a balloon after they saw her devour a third helping like she was being starved to death and then go up for another. What most people didn't know though, (At least until she became a famous Spectre) was that Jane Shepard was in fact a biotic and a decently powerful one at that.

So it was with the accustomed awed stares from the other crew members, that Jane dug into enough food for half those present at the table. Going through ROTP, Jane had been taught how to eat like a proper lady and an officer, but things changed when you were the one in charge, and she was damned hungry too. So, without embarrassment or hesitation, Jane attacked her food like some vicious predator, shovelling the greyish goop and sickly vegetables into her mouth so fast that a trowel would have served her better than a fork and spoon. Slugging back cups of coffee and water in a single go, two cups of water for every cup of coffee. Damned military and its rules that became habit.

"Good morning commander, I trust you slept well?" asked a clipped and proper voice that could have only belonged to one person.

"Mwarming Mweranda," greeted Jane, her mouth full of food. She made an effort to chew and swallow and wiped her mouth as Miranda took a seat across the table from her.

Miranda was a biotic the same as Jane, and a real looker too. Dark lustrous shoulder length hair, sparkling blue eyes, a little bit of the good stuff around the front and rear without being too big and a figure that would make a supermodel cry. Damned near half of the crew tripped over their tongues when they saw her, but that was until they got frostbite on 'em. The woman was all business and serious all of the time. She was stern, strict, and controlled in everything that she did. She wasn't dumb though. Oh no, Miranda Lawson was extremely smart, smart and dangerous. She was a warrior, a scientist, a leader, and a biotic and in many regards except in terms of personality very much like Jane. (Except that Jane wasn't a scientist and hated math). What annoyed Jane though was that Miranda only had one plate of food, like her biotics ran off of good wishes and love (or lack thereof) and that such trivial things such as eating vast amount of calories so that she wouldn't starve were below her.

She and Miranda had a cordial working relationship, but Jane just didn't trust her completely, like she was keeping something from her. It was just something that she couldn't quite put her finger on, like the answer was just out of reach. The thing that made her mad too though, was the fact that she seemed to always have a damned smirk about her, or a cocky air like she knew that Jane knew, but wouldn't say anything. Jane itched irritably at her scar along her jaw.

"I slept good Miranda, the bed was much better than the Alliance bunks that I'm used to. What kind of bed is it anyways?"

"It's Swiss make," said Miranda. "The Illusive Man gets only the best-"

"Human made products?"

"No Commander, just the best," said Miranda a little guardedly. Jane didn't know why, but she always felt the need to one up Miranda in whatever they did, like it was a competition. Or just start a fight that she didn't really want.

"Commander Shepard, have you given anymore thought as to who you're going to recruit first for the team? My recommendation would be professor Mordin Solus. He runs a clinic on Omega in the lower sections of the station. Our reports indicate that he was a member of STG and that he's a brilliant scientist. He would be an invaluable asset to the team and could help develop counter measures to the swarm that we saw in the security recording."

"No, I'm going to recruit Archangel first. I'll get Mordin later."

"Oh, may I ask why?" Jane felt a flash of annoyance and a twinge of anger. Why was Miranda always second guessing her? Anyone else and it wouldn't have bothered her, but Miranda just had a _way _of doing it that pushed all of Jane's buttons. Miranda just made Jane defensive and so...so bitchy with her, no matter what it was about. It was almost like high school again.

"Well Miranda, do you know how to use a sniper rifle?"

"Well I could, but-"

"Let me rephrase that. Do you have specialized training in long range combat? No, you don't and neither do I. We're biotics. In fact, so is Jacob. So that means that we're all close range fighters armed with pistols, shotguns, submachine guns, and biotics. No rifles, no assault weapons, no one with heavy armour. Three of the people that we're recruiting are on Omega and they're not going to be going anywhere anytime soon. So just in case things all go to hell, I just want to make sure that we can reach out and touch someone instead of getting picked off like we're at a shooting gallery. So that's why I'm getting Archangel first Lawson, understand?" finished Jane scratching fiercely at her glowing scar and cramming her face with another heaping portion of food.

"Understood, Commander," said Miranda politely, but icily. She didn't say anything else to Jane and despite herself, Jane felt bad about the whole thing. She wasn't a person to be naturally mean or rude to people, well, unless they deserved it and it would eat away at her if she didn't apologize or make amends. Jane sighed.

"Look Miranda, I'm sorry. I'm not a morning person and I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I shouldn't have done it and I apologize for it. So what do you say we forget it ever happened okay? Sometimes I get a little pigheaded and forget that other people have ideas too. So what do you say forgive me?"

Miranda gave Jane a look that didn't exactly give forgiveness, but at the same time it wasn't hostile.

"I was never angry commander, just displeased that my thoughts were rebuked so quickly." There wasn't much talk after that, but the scar cooled down on Joan's cheek and she dug into her food with renewed gusto, if a little self conscious with Miranda sitting so close to her.

"So when are we getting to Omega anyways?" asked Shepard trying to make polite conversation.

"Within the hour if nothing goes amiss. Cerberus has already paid the fees and protection to the gang that runs the dock we're using and has a standing line of credit to use with them so we can come and go as we please."

"That's actually pretty well thought out," admitted Jane munching on some toast.

"Cerberus is very well organized Commander and they only settle for the best."

"Is that why they hired you?" asked Jane before she could help herself. Lawson smiled then, not an icy one, but a smile that hinted at a secret that Jane didn't know.

"That is exactly why they hired me," said Miranda, eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge.

The first thing that Jane noticed about Omega, was the smell. The smell of desperation, fear, cruelty, and the dirty sweat smell of refuse from a hundred different species and their sweat all mingling and rotting together. Everything was rusted, and old. Things just seemed to change as you walked, like one person had started building something and then another had taken over. Omega had switched hands countless times throughout the centuries and every ruler added their own unique touch to it. Just a little piece of them to the whole, and they were still in the docking areas to boot.

Jacob and Miranda flanked Jane as she walked, shadowing her perfectly, eyes always looking, always searching for threats. They were well trained and well disciplined and Jane had to respect that. She respected people who took their job seriously on the job, but would shake her head if they were still serious off of it. There was a time and a place to be a soldier, but this was definitely one of those times. Hell, she had felt safer in some firefights than she did walking shoulder to shoulder with some of the people milling about. Jane bumped into a blonde human woman to avoid bumping into a krogan, easy choice really.

"Sorry," mumbled Jane and the woman did the same. She was in nice civilian clothing, expensive clothing, but that wasn't what drew Jane's attention. For the briefest moment that their eyes met, Jane realized something. The woman had purple eyes. Purple. Before she could get another look, the woman was gone, back into the press of bodies.

"Did you see that ?" asked Jane.

"See what?" answered Jacob.

"Never mind," said Jane, chalking it up to contacts or lighting. If only she had paid more attention.

AN: Well that was a bit of a darker chapter, but I think I got the grimdark of 40k pretty good, especially with the mechanicus. I had a few questions brought up about the whole language thing and I just want to say that I know Low Gothic is different, but I really did not want the whole language barrier to be there, because frankly it isn't important. So yes, that was a cop out, but I didn't feel like writing a good reason to bridge the gap. A few points quickly, Shepard is a girl (heresy to say otherwise as one distinguished author has said), people are angry about Joan's sin, and there is no need to hunt me down because there is both retinue interaction and the story is continued. Until next time. By the way, I won't be able to update for seven weeks during the summer, because I'm staffing a cadet camp.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Friendly bout**

"Just bring us in nice and steady Joan, you're doing fine."

"Yes si-Inquisitor," said Joan nervously, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her hands flitting over the control surfaces of the xeno shuttle as she brought it into dock at the xeno station called Omega, which was also populated primarily by, you guessed it, xenos. She didn't want to be flying this xeno hunk of scrap and she didn't want to be landing amongst a bunch of damned heathen xenos. Now Joan wasn't the most religious or devout person around, but it just somehow felt _wrong _to rub shoulders with these creatures. Screwing up her courage, Joan voiced the desperate hope that had been nursing deep inside her since the start of the whole venture. Clearing her throat nervously, she asked her question in a quiet, timid voice.

"Um, Inquisitor Nyxos. Would it be, I mean would it be okay if, that I, well, stayed with the shuttle? Instead of going in...there with the ground team? I, I don't think that I could...manage it."

"Of course it would be okay, we can't risk our best pilot with something like that now can we?" The compliment from someone as important as the Inquisitor made Joan puff up with pride and the weight of fear was lifted from her as well. She wouldn't have to come in with them after all. She breathed a literal sigh of relief and brought them just outside the mass effect field generated by one of the station's docks with a great deal less apprehension.

Omega looked kind of like a mushroom, but at the same time it didn't, with its extra sections and what looked like antennas jutting out at odd intervals, almost like a fungal bloom. There was no symmetry to it, no design to the station. It was almost like someone had just stuck pins into a pin cushion and now Joan had to fly around the points. There was actually a surprising amount of traffic going through, merchants, slavers, raiders, pirates, mercenaries, businessmen, and all other sorts of craft and people that Joan couldn't even begin to guess their purpose.

Joan had piloted a Valkyrie on a drop against the eldar once and to be around xeno craft again made her edgy. Ruinous powers, rebel worlds, or orks she could handle. But to see all these sleek and smooth vessels around her brought back memories of her wing going up like candle wicks, bright flashes of red and orange amongst a sea of inky black and impossibly graceful and streamlined fighters going through them, picking them off one by one. Of all the opponents that Joan had fought against in her short career as a combat pilot, she hated fighting the eldar most. It was only with her enhanced physiology that Joan could keep up with them, and the only reason that her Valkyrie had made it to the ground when so many other's had gone up in smoke. Joan found herself missing her Valkyrie again, and more importantly the weapons on it.

"Just be sure to be ready to come lift off at a moment's notice. Things may not turn out well, but I have great faith in you Joan," said Nyxos and smiled. Joan smiled back and Nyxos observed how the freckled face was segmented off and broken by tracery lines of white-blue from implants just below the skin. If not for her flight suit and gloves, Nyxos was sure that he would have found similar lines running all over her body. Joan was from a world where being a pilot was a revered and highly sought after occupation, which resulted in nearly all of the people from her world having the same augmentations that she did. They improved both her reaction time and ability to interact with an aircraft, making her deadly and quick behind the controls of nearly any machine. He had already put her in for fighter training and she was progressing through it remarkably quickly and well. It seemed that she had a knack for dogfighting and the split-second decision making process of a fighter pilot. Joan gave Nyxos a quick thumbs up before returning her attention to the controls. Light reflected dully from her glowing implants off the cockpit controls.

Nyxos smiled again, before turning and going back to the crew compartment, his smile leaving as soon as his back was turned to the pilot. Too fidgety, too nervous, too green. If not for her skill as a pilot she would have served him better as a stimm-warrior, not as a member of his retinue. But if Maneesha said that she was important, than she had some role to play yet.

"Joan's all good to go Nick?" asked Svetlana. She was dressed in the civilian garb that was the most common, yet expensive that they had been able to find on such short notice. The most _human _civilian garb that they could get. Her hair was held back in a hair net studded with rare gems and amethysts of black and blue and made out of silver wire. Her dress shimmered in the cabin light of the shuttle, a deep black that glimmered softly. It was a long flowing dress that was nice, but relatively plain by Imperial standards. She wore a ring on each of her index fingers studded with purple diamonds that were every bit Imperial made, and quite hard to find. Not to mention make, and they went well with her eyes.

"She's perfectly fine, a little nervous, but she's doing good. We were lucky to find her."

"Think she'll hold up okay under fire if it comes to it?"

"Don't know, if I'm being truthful, but she'll be staying on the shuttle for the time being at any rate. Can't go risking our means of egress now can we?"

"Sure thing Nick," said Svetlana. "That's really good of you by the way, letting her stay out of this. She's a solid girl, but she's never done anything like this before."

"Why my dear Svetlana, I am an incorrigibly good person." Svetlana smiled at that, but there was no warmth to it. She knew enough about Nyxos to know that that was not even nearly true.

"I don't see how these people can stand to wear clothes like this," said Aditya pulling at the sleeves of his charcoal grey suit. "Not tight, not loose, doesn't give you enough room to move and it'll get in the way of a fight." He pushed his visor shades back into place, playing role of bodyguard for this mission. He even had one of their pistols on him, the best that they had salvaged from the slavers, currently hidden away on the inside of his suit.

"At least yours fit," grumbled Simon, his deep bass voice rumbling forth from his chest. He was dressed much the same as Aditya, save for the fact that it looked like if he so much as flexed his shoulders, he would pop the seams of the suit. They had had to actually make his suit, but they had unfortunately been short of time and a good tailor, so the result was a suit a few sizes too small. "It feels like that if I breathe I'll tear this thing apart."

"Don't get scared then Simon. If the nasty xenos get too close just hold my hand and mommy will take care of you."

Simon smiled at Svetlana, a brilliant white smile that seemed more a challenge than a gesture of mirth.

"I intend to get very close to them before I'm done. Or have you forgotten my part in this?"

"Easy big guy, I know what the plan is. Tyrosh, the great fighter from the middle ass nowhere comes to Omega with his sponsors for a test of human might vs xeno in a true test of warrior pride and yadda yadda yadda," said Svetlana deepening her voice slightly and taking on a mocking announcer's tone. "You still got any muscle in those pieces of flab you call arms?" Another smile of ivory white teeth.

"I am as sure of my strength as the rising of the sun, the turning of the universe, and the ten pounds you've gained since you discovered Lerochian chocolate."

"Hey," said Svetlana indignantly.

"Enough," said Nyxos curtly and those present fell silent. Nyxos was a man who didn't mind banter, but when he became focused he was all business and as rigid as hard iron. "The fight itself doesn't matter, what matters is the the prize of winning. An audience with Aria T'Loak, don't forget that. And don't lose," said Nyxos directing his last words at Simon.

"I understand Inquisitor."

"Good." With a barely perceptible tremor, the shuttle landed. Without being told, the retinue rose and readied themselves, the four of them stood while the figures in the other seats stayed immobile, barely breathing. Wires and armoured cords ran from their scalps to their spines, but their expressions were hidden behind the heavy body armour they wore. Imperial Guard Issue, complete with helmets with blast visors. A little batch of stimm-warriors, glassy-eyed and dull, but useful should they need them.

Nyxos held out his arm and Svetlana dutifully took it and they descended the ramp the moment it descended, followed closely by Aditya and Simon. Aditya looking severe and professional, like any good bodyguard, and Simon giving off the air of a professional athlete in it for the money and glory, but for those who knew to look, could see all too clearly the blood on his hands. The ramp closed just as quickly, a little piece of Imperial technology keeping the stimm-warriors from view, but finicky and wouldn't hold up to a close inspection so it was best to have it running as short as possible.

"Mr. Se'Ductor?" asked a Turian with a data slate, or whatever xeno equivalent it was. "Your payment has been processed and cleared, welcome to Omega."

"Thank you," said Nyxos politely. "I trust that my craft will be well looked after while I am away?" Nyxos had learned the language of Italian quickly in the short few weeks before they had travelled to Omega, not wishing to rely on speaking Low Gothic. While close enough to pass, it was markedly different enough to raise questions and so it was just more efficient to speak a local human language. Though they all also had their own translators with them. Just little things that fit into the ear without much hassle and almost unnoticeable.

"Not my problem," said the Turian blandly.

"But I paid for this dock," said Nyxos, playing the part of an offended business man, puffing up a pretentious chest. "I expected protection for my craft for the ridiculous sum I paid merely to _dock _here. I was given the understanding that the protection of my shuttle was included in the fee."

"Look, if you don't like it here, then you're free to leave, just don't bother me." The turian walked away then, making a point to turn his back to Nyxos sharply and leave, muttering something about upstart races being pushy.

"Upstart? We've ruled the stars for ten thousand years and the God Emperor himself guides humanity. Disgusting reptile," muttered Aditya under his breath at the retreating turian. "If we could get word back to the Imperium about these things, we could launch a crusade and crush them inside a month with these relays."

"You're on stage, so remember to play the part," murmured Nyxos.

"Of course Mr. Se'Ductor, the arena is this way through the docking stations. Stay close sir," said Aditya quickly slipping into his role.

Svetlana rested her head on Nyxos's shoulder and looked every bit an expensive escort. Flirtatious, tall, and curvy. Not to mention entirely lethal in a fight, but past scars are easily covered up, weapons easily hidden. She smiled at the mercs around the docking bay as they walked, going so far as to wink at them, xenos included. Not all of the lustful glances she attracted were from humans either.

After paying another sum of credits, they were allowed into the general press of bodies and Svetlana bumped into an armoured woman and they both mumbled apologies to each other before continuing on. Aditya and Simon having been separated for a moment by the xenos and humans moving to and fro.

"What exactly are the fights about darling?" asked Svetlana, leaning a little more into Nyxos, but for those who cared to look, her eyes were shifting to everyone with a gun, which was most people.

"A little tournament to gamble on and a title to win," said Nyxos airily, putting the rolling cadence of an Italian accent into his voice, having gone through the trouble of also learning English. Which while similar to low gothic, had some major grammar and sentence structure differences.

"Is it for sport, or is it to the death?" asked Svetlana, speaking in the little amount of Ukranian that she had managed to learn in the short two weeks. A language surprisingly similar to native Valhalla.

"Either or. The fights continue until one fighter submits or one fighter is dead. There are no rules, no referees, and no time calls."

"Are there wardens?" asked Simon. "Weapons allowed, enclosed pits, rage fights, or handicap fights?"

"No, just you and your opponent," said Nyxos. "One on one, no weapons, no one to kill you for backing down, and you won't have to fight any savage creatures."

"Seems rather soft for a pitt fight," commented Simon.

"Too soft for your liking?"

"I never enjoyed crushing the life out of another man sir. I did it because I had to and because they stood between me and my life. I never took pleasure in it, but I was never afraid to do it either. And fighting a xenos? Well, if it's just these twigs, what do I have to be afraid of?"

"There are krogan that you have to consider," said Aditya.

"I read the relevant articles, I think that I can handle my own when it comes to one of them. They're strong, and they can take a great deal of pain, but they give in to anger too easily, let it control themselves and their actions. Besides, I've fought worse."

"Need to pray now or later?" asked Svetlana, entirely serious, no glibness or mocking tone in her voice.

"I'll pray before the fight," answered Simon. "Did you bring the brush?"

"Yeah, it's in my bag. You sure you want to do this? I mean, you did say that you never wanted to pitt fight again."

"I don't fight for the strong masters anymore and I don't fight for money. I fight for a much nobler cause now and I will do whatever it takes to carry out my duty."

"He protects, ow," said Svetlana rubbing her arm as Nyxos pinched her lightly.

"Calm, beautiful escort. Not concerned friend."

Svetlana merely went back to hanging off of Nyxos's arm and seeing how much of herself she could press into him and keep walking as Aditya cleared a path for them.

As they got to the more commercial district of Omega, they could see clear signs of decay on the buildings around them, but also startling newness and bright lights. There were buildings old and decrepit, falling apart and falling down, and then right beside them there were buildings still being constructed and always in a different design. There was no one style to it, no one culture. The buildings weren't built for efficiency, aesthetic appeal, or even space. Each one was built for the own unique and specific tastes of the individual who was building it. Some buildings even looked like one person had started building it with a certain style in mind, gotten bored, then someone else had taken over and done something completely different with the upper part.

The air smelled dirty, too much refuse, too many bodies, too much filth and not enough people either willing or able to clean it up. It smelled like the lower levels on a hive city and had the same air of desperation and depravity to it that those dark levels did. Looking down into a chasm, Nyxos could see that Omega extended far down into its mother asteroid. Seven million sentients all living together on this rock from a dozen races, and it was all shit. Not a good point about it, not self-sufficient in the least, polluted by xenos, minimal industry, home to the worst criminals in the sector, galaxy if the extranet was to be believed, but shit still had its uses. No one ever looked in a place like this too hard, especially when you could lose yourself amongst an entire population that was much the same as the ones you were looking for. Too hard, too time-consuming, and better to wait until they made the first move then to go rooting for them. Nyxos had read that you could hide an army on Omega, or one very large ship.

Xxx

Jane had never met the pirate queen of Omega before, which wasn't saying much, only heard a few stories about her from other N7's and marines who had been heavily involved in anti-piracy missions. She had heard many wild and fanciful stories about the fabled queen, but to meet her in person was a different story. She had heard many different stories about her and her personality, her temperament, her anger, but she didn't seem like someone who would just fly off the handle at a moments notice. She just seemed...hard. Like a diamond, unyielding, beautiful, and cold. There was nothing soft about the pirate queen and if nothing else, despite who she was or what she had done, Jane could instantly tell that she was a woman that deserved respect. If she didn't outright command it.

"The famous Commander Shepard. The first human spectre, saviour of the citadel, a war hero hailing from a family with a distinguished military pedigree. N7 qualified, holder of the prestigious Star of Terra and known as the hero of the Blitz. Classified as a biotic vanguard and rated as one of the top thirty most powerful human biotics, some have said one of the top ten. A young officer with a promising career who graduated with top marks from the Kingston Royal Military university and received a personal commendation from the commanding officer of the university in the form of a ceremonial sword. Served with distinction on the SSV Ypres, the SSV Tarawa, and the SSV Kursk. Took command of her own ship at the age of twenty seven in the hunt for Saren and was later...buried, with full military honours in front of a mourning galaxy and a devastated crew who had seen their cherished commander give her life for theirs. A noble sacrifice catalogued in the Systems Alliance military archives as an act that upheld every ideal of the navy and embodied the very soul of the Systems Alliance Military. Dead, buried, mourned, and forgotten. And yet, here you are."

Aria had an enchanting quality to her voice, the kind that forced someone to pay attention and hang on her every word. She didn't raise her voice, spoke like she had known you for years. No hesitation, confident, and used to control and power. Background music with a lively and upbeat pace seemed an inappropriate backdrop for the woman, as well as the dancing clubbers and gyrating strippers. Afterlife didn't have the same feel as other clubs. It was still the party atmosphere, but it felt more primal, more base. With violence and wild mayhem only a moments notice away.

"Well, I didn't get much of a choice," said Jane. "You made an offer that I really couldn't refuse," said Jane letting a small smile slip through in her attempt at humour. Aria's face remained as impassive and hard as stone.

"Yes, well I do hope that you can look past the harsh invitation. It's not everyday that I get to talk to a dead spectre. Am I to assume that your new complexion has something to do with your miraculous recovery?"

Jane rubbed her scars self-consciously.

"Something like that," said Jane.

"Now I assume that you have business to attend to here on Omega, but before we I help you out, I would like you to help me out with something."

"How?" asked Jane suspiciously.

"I want you to tell me, where exactly were you for the past two years? And running with Cerberus now too. Now, I am a great judge of character and you don't strike me as the type to up and join and organization like that. So, where has the famous Jane Shepard been for the past two years?"

"Dead," replied Jane flatly.

"Really?"

"I know it's hard to believe, most of the time I don't believe it much myself, but it's true. I did die, suffocated in space and fell from orbit. Cerberus rebuilt me, gave me some upgrades...brought me back. I've been back less than two weeks and I'm still settling in. To me, it's like I just woke up and yet for everyone else it's been two years."

"Like Lazarus risen from the grave, it would seem. Would you care for a drink Shepard?"

"No thank you."

"Never have one myself during business hours, always found it made me more talkative and less focused." said Aria.

"Is that why you offered me one?" asked Jane.

"Very perceptive Commander, but I think that you had a question for me now?"

"Yes. I wanted to know about Archangel."

"Him? Oh, he's been causing all sorts of trouble for the local merc groups around here. A minor nuisance that's kept mostly bloodying the nose of some big players on Omega. If you want to go and get him though, you had better hurry and find him. The Blue Suns, Eclipse and Blood Pact are all ganging up to take him and his team down. Well, just him now I suppose."

Jane fought hard not to shoot a superior look at Miranda for being right in her decision, and kept her attention focused on Aria.

"What do you know about Professor Mordin Solus?"

"The Salarian? A few things. Ex-STG, opened up a free clinic here on Omega, and he's currently in a quarantine zone down on some of the lower levels. I would advise you not to go down there, but the virus seems to leave humans alone for some reason. Well, the Vorcha too of course. If you're set on getting him, I'll send word ahead and let them know to let you through. One last thing though Shepard, You need to know the one and only rule of Omega."

"What is it?" asked Jane curiously.

"Don't **fuck, **with Aria."

"Not even a little bit?" asked Jane, her humour wilting under the withering stare from Aria. "Right, easy to remember, sound good," said Jane standing up, eager to get started and distance herself from Aria.

"I should go."

"It was enlightening to see you commander, haven't had anyone try to make a joke out of my rule for a long time now. I have a job for you when you get back if you want it, but if I were you I would hurry. Archangel doesn't have much time left."

xxx

Blood flew and the crowd cheered as the turian crumpled to the ground, the mandibles on the right side of its face clearly broken and its hard scales cracked in several places, some leaking bluish blood. Simon roared in victory, thrusting his arms high into the air and turning around so all the crowd could see him, and the wound on his chest that bled freely, courtesy of the turian's talons. It seemed to bother Simon no more than a mosquito bite.

Simon's chest was bare, as it normally was, because as a gladiator in the pitts the chest was their showpiece. It was a gladiators challenge to their opponents, an open invitation and insult to leave it open and unprotected, daring their opponents to try and leave a mark on it. Simon's chest was dark, powerful, and relatively few scars for the many years he had been a pitt fighter. He hardly ever wore a shirt, because for a gladiator from the deep pitts, the chest was like a tapestry, a chronicle of all their exploits, whether victories or defeats. And Simon wanted all to see. He wasn't ashamed about his past and wore it all on his sleeve...or his chest as the case would be.

The arena was reminiscent of the coliseums scattered across various Imperial worlds, but lacking the size, art, and marble or stone construction. It could sit about two to three thousand people and was built of metal, a dull grey or black with some spots of rust beginning to appear. There were private viewing booths and the fights were being broadcast live all across Omega and on extranet sights that were less than legal in Citadel Space. More than one contestant had died in these tournaments before, and more than one had died by Simon's hand today.

"Darling, these fights bore me. Mind if I go and use the ladies room for a moment?" asked Svetlana, acting under her alias of Astra Gorokhova, an expensive escort of Ukrainian descent from Elysium. Whatever that meant.

Nyxos looked at Svetlana, hazel eyes conveying an entire unspoken conversation, both figuratively, and unfortunately literally.

"_Just remember to not draw attention to yourself. We can not afford a mistake here. This isn't Imperial space and anything you do, any gesture, and euphemism or word in Low Gothic and our cover is blown. And don't go down to see Simon." *_

Whenever Nyxos spoke directly into Svetlana's mind, it was always a sharp stinging pain, like a bee sting. Nyxos had said that it was because Svetlana resisted it so much, try as she might to let Nyxos speak to her with his mind, it always felt violating and intrusive. It irritated her too that he though she was some green beat enforcer who would slip up so easily, even after the six years that she had been with him. Well, six _real space _years. Nyxos picked up on her irritation and Svetlana instantly felt herself become more calm, and was dimly aware that Nyxos was using his psychic influence to get rid of her irritation.

"Go, but don't be gone too long my dear, I ache without you by my side."

"Thank you Michael," said Svetlana, smiling and kissing Nyxos on the cheek before rising and going to the bathroom. It was down a short hallway outside the viewing box, so Svetlana had to skirt past a few xenos and a few humans gaggling here and there in the hallway or talking. Svetlana tasted a little bile in her throat when she saw a slave human and its batarian master. A metal collar around the neck of a handsome young man, standing subserviently behind a richly dressed Batarian and its pair of bodyguards. It took all of Svetlana's self-control not to have her face contort in disgust and rage and instead smiled pleasantly at the Batarian as she passed.

An asari attendant was standing in front of the bathroom, smiling pleasantly at Svetlana who smiled back and tried to ignore the way her skin crawled when the asari _accidentally_ brushed against her as she entered the washroom. It was a large washroom, but only meant for one person and Svetlana locked the door before going to the sink and splashing some water on her face.

She hated pitt fights, gladiator fights, or whatever else any barbaric world liked to call them. It was illegal, it was immoral, and most of all it was inhuman. Svetlana had a bitter metallic taste in her mouth from watching the fights and made a decision that she would need something stiff to wash it out with.

Svetlana had been an arbite. An investigator with an impeccable record and had done some good undercover work in her career, but had preferred regular beat work. It was because of that that she could not stand to watch things like that, it just made her blood boil and want to lash out and slap restraints on the lot of them. Bring them to court, let the gladiators go, let the law do its job. Svetlana loved the law, loved the order it represented and genuinely wanted to help people and make them feel safe. Protect them. At thirty two years old she still wanted to make a difference, make a mark and improve people's lives, not get stranded in a different galaxy. She had busted rapists, drug dealers, cultists, murderers, and all sorts of criminals and law breakers in her time, but had very nearly been put in the jails where she had spent her life sending the worst of the worst to.

It had all been because of one case that had taken over a year to solve and had driven her to the point of obsession to finish. Girls were going missing, little girls, some boys too. They would always be found later, or at least pieces of them down in the sumps or underhive. Autopsies from the more intact ones had shown severe physical and sexual abuse. The case had vexed Svetlana and she had followed the trail of breadcrumbs all the way to the highest steps of Imperial office. Right to the Governor's palace.

It hadn't been the governor, but his son that was to blame for the crime, and the atrocities. Svetlana had chased him through the twisting underhives in a running gun battle that had led to her partner Kurt dying. She had arrested the bastard, who had put down his gun smiling after putting a bullet through Kurt's head from a hideaway pistol and Svetlana had taken him into custody, expectant of the full weight of the law to be brought to bear. It hadn't happened.

The governor pulled some strings and the sick bastard was going to go free, and the witness that Svetlana had rescued had mysteriously disappeared. No one missed underhive girls like her, no one cared about the vagrants that had had things done to them that still gave Svetlana bad dreams. They weren't nobility, they weren't important, and the governor wasn't bound by the law, what crazy talk was that?

Something had snapped inside Svetlana at that, something just broke. Her father had been a guardsmen, as most arbites parents had been and he had infused Svetlana with a sense of right and wrong that had never left her. The law was right, if not in word then in spirit, meant to help the people and keep them safe regardless of status or position. So for such a crime to be not only forgiven, but swept away without justice being served, was too much.

Svetlana had walked up to the pompous little inbred, his cocky little smile on his face, then that cocky smile disappearing as Svetlana pulled out her heavy service stub, and put a 14mm round right through his forehead and repainted the wall. She had been arrested after that, held on the charge for murder and awaiting sentencing. Nyxos had arrived then, flashed his inquisitorial badge and taken her away. He seemed to have a knack for that. Finding desperate, discarded, and skilled people yearning for a second chance.

Aditya was the only one left from the original retinue that Svetlana had joined, well, save for the wych child Maneesha and her unwavering golden stare. Nyxos seemed to take their deaths with a grain of salt, neither mourning nor celebrating the fact that one of his followers had died. He did have a way of inspiring loyalty though, and now he had found the most loyal follower of all in the sister.

It seemed that all the loyalty that the woman had had for the sororitas and devotion was now firmly fixed on Nyxos. Svetlana saw how the woman would stand straighter when he entered a room and would always see if he required anything of her, just so eager to please him. So eager for his approval, his attention. Like a lovestruck school girl, she was never far from Nyxos's side and Svetlana saw the way that she looked at him. What the sister didn't know, was that Nyxos would discard her without a second thought if it meant the success of the mission. Svetlana shut off the water and left the washroom, going to find a place to get a drink away from the fights.

Xxx

Simon spat blood as the 8' tall krogan hit him with a devastating haymaker. Simon had been trading blows with him for the past couple of minutes and was surprised by the amount of punishment that it could take. Its dual nervous system was more formidable than he had thought.

With a roar, Simon returned the favour to the krogan with two haymakers, forcing the krogan back and forcing an oversized tooth from its mouth and alien blood to stain its mouth. The crowds cheers were loud in his ears, reverberating off the sides of the coliseum in a rising crescendo of bloodlust and applause for two beings trying to kill each other and Emperor help him, he loved it. He threw a flurry of blows at the Krogan and drank in how the crowd roared every time he struck flesh.

Chest, stomach, jaw, cheek, mouth, eye, Simon his the krogan with a barrage of blows that would have each knocked a man flat on his back or knocked him unconscious, blows that could have killed a man. The krogan took it all, falling back with every blow, but never yielding, never lessening its ferocious counterattack.

The bestial visage of the krogan twisted in a feral snarl and charged into Simon with a headbutt and running with him like Simon's large and powerful frame weighed no more than a feather. Simon dug his feet into the sand arresting their momentun and drove his elbow down on top of the krogan's hump, once, twice, three times, before they broke away and circled each other.

Simon was breathing hard and his blood was singing in his ears, his wounds and blows that he had taken ignored for the moment, pushed off to the side. The krogan seemed much the same, seeming to smile in joy at the fight and it was then that Simon realized that his own mouth was twisted in a feral grin, much the same as that of the krogan. The fight wasn't to the death, wasn't supposed to be lethal, but neither one, man or xeno, was willing to give in. They came together and went apart again several more times, trading a few blows, drawing a little blood, but nothing serious. One of them would have to make a move soon and Simon could tell from the body language that the krogan was planning on making it.

Simon strafed left as the krogan charged again, and kicked him in the back as he passed, causing the krogan to lose its footing and fall. In a regular pitt fight Simon would have been on him in an instant, but krogan were deadly strong in a grappling match. The krogan didn't spend long on the ground anyways, up again in an instant.

Armoured, was an accurate word to describe a krogan. Tough hide, hard muscles, large hump, riddled with scars, and a chest like a redwood. The krogan barely seemed to register his blows as they came together again.

Simon drove his knee into the krogan's stomach and put all his power into a devastating punch that rocked the krogan's head back, then struck it in the throat with a quick jab so that it made a gargling, strangled noise. This was the last fight in the tourney, and if Simon could finish off the krogan, they would have their ticket to see Aria T'loak and Simon's part would be done. Asari, batarian, turian, hanar, a quarian, and even a young krogan had fallen before Simon, but this krogan was different. Older, stronger, more bloodthirsty and able to control its battlelust. Still, even an old veteran had to lose a few fights.

Just as Simon was winding up to finish off the krogan, it's head slammed forward into a headbutt and the bony ridges on its skull drove hard into Simon's skull. Simon's vision flashed white and he staggered back, blood running down his face from fresh cuts. His vision still fuzzy and his head still stinging, Simon's body flashed in pain again as he was hit with a punch in the head, making his skull feel like it was going to split, then another, and another and soon Simon was on the other end of the arena, bleeding and seeing double, starting to see triple.

Three legs came up and hit Simon square in the chest hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs and make him lose his footing. Simon hit the sand and tried to rise, even as he was gasping for air, but was forced down again as the krogan jumped on him, straddling his chest and began trying to choke the life out of him. Simon pulled at the hands around his throat, seeing how the krogan's face was lit up with sadistic glee, even when Simon drove a fist the size of a roast into the side of its face. As Simon's vision stared to turn grey, old pitt fighting instincts came back and he took both hands, brought them up to the krogan's face, and drove both his thumbs into its eyes, feeling the weak jelly first give, then rupture under his steely thumbs. Bits of blood and eye jelly fell onto Simon's face as he pushed his thumbs in farther.

That made the krogan howl shrilly, sounding too high and weak to come from such a beast. Simon used his thumbs to hook into the cheek bones, squishing the jelly of its red eyes around his thumbs and threw it off of him. Simon was up and moving as soon as he was able, staggering as the krogan gave into the rage so common of its kind and roared loud, feral, and angry.

It lowered its head and turned in the direction of Simon, relying on smell and instinct to make up for its lack of sight, and charged. Simon had moved near one of the high, smooth metal walls and stood there, watching the krogan pick up speed like a cargo tram, blood running down its face like it was crying bloody tears.

At the last possible instant, Simon jumped to the side and the krogan whistled passed, head lowered, and impacted the wall. The impact was loud and it shook the wall, and Simon heard a barely imperceptible _crack _as the krogan hit. The krogan stumbled back, dazed, shaky on its feet with blood trailing from its head and eyes, a low, almost whine issued from it. Simon finished the fight.

He grabbed the krogan by one of its crests and back of its hump and thrust its head against the wall with all the strength he could manage. He hit the krogan again and again against the wall, each time a crackling sound would emerge and a little more blood would spill forth. Simon's chest flared in fiery hot pain as the krogan's hand clawed at his chest, tearing bloody grooves in its scarred surface, but they were superficial and Simon kept at it. Eventually the krogan went limp, its skull noticeably concave, and with a shuddering breath it died.

Simon let go of the krogan and it fell down the wall, squeaking and leaving a trail of blood and bits of skull as it went. Simon's chest was heaving both from exertion and pain and he felt tired, tired and sick. Blood was running freely down his chest and into his eyes from his head and he tasted it in his mouth. He spat out a bloody wad of phlegm as the roar of the crowd washed over him. Like a tidal wave in enveloped him, filling him up and lifting him to inhuman heights. It invigorated Simon, as it had for years in the deep pitts and he raised his arms high above his head and roared in victory, the euphoric rush of the crowds applause and victory coursing through his veins. All his hurts, all his weaknesses forgotten as he drank it all in. He stood on the Krogan's corpse and let go another roar of victory, so primal, so instinctual that he sounded more beast than man. The crowd loved him for it and cheered all the louder for it. Throne help him, he loved it all.

Xxx

"Miss Kiren Nar'Ghenguin, have you finished the latest trial runs of the reactor?"

"Um, yes, they're right here," said the quarian and Ovidiu took the data slate, a prong extending from his arm and into the data pad, downloading all relevant information in an instant.

"Very good, element zero core running better than estimates had predicted by a full .38%, very good," applauded Ovidiu. "How is it that you've managed this? My estimates were most precise, this result is most intriguing," said Ovidiu, his double voice overlapping and giving a more contemplative, yet unnerving quality to his voice.

"My dad was the chief engineer on the Ghenguin, he taught me a few tricks," said the quarian staring fixedly at the floor, seemingly unwilling to meet either Ovidiu's gaze or the blank targeting sensors of her pair of skitarri wardens.

"Query, you said, was. Is the past tense meaning applicable or was it merely mistakenly used?"

"No, my dad died of infection."

"Ah, you have my condolences then." Kiren looked up then, surprise showing in her two glowing eyes from behind her face mask, almost disbelief.

"Something problematic?" asked Ovidiu, confusion evident in his words.

"No...no, just...surprised."

"Interrogative, I am afraid that I don't understand the surprise, may you enlighten me as to the cause?" asked Ovidiu.

"I just...didn't expect it, not from someone like...you."

"Query, is there something wrong with me?"

"NO!" said Kiren forcefully enough that the targeting reticules of the skitarri activated. "No... I mean no, it's just that, your friends in the robes...they, I don't know how to say it."

"Oh, that is most problematic. If you so desire, I could have a dictionary and thesaurus made available for your use. I am positive that you could learn all relevant words, usage, and sentence structure required."

"Thank you archmagos, but it isn't a lack of knowledge it's..."

"Interrogative, is it of a disparaging nature against my colleagues? If you dislike working with the mechanicus, I can release you from your duties back into the care of the adeptus biologis once again if you would find that preferable."

"NO!, I never said that, please I never said anything like that! Don't send me back there, kee'lah don't send me back to that room! I can make the engines better, I know how to maintain them, I'll teach you anything you want, just don't send me back there pleaaase," A hiccoughing sound began emanating from the quarian named Kiren and sound distortion associated with partially blocked airways and sinuses from mucous build up or lacrimation became very evident.

Ovidiu called forth relevant files from the extranet, his own archives, and even a few barely remembered personal anecdotes and realized that the quarian was running a grief simulation, mixed with a fear protocol and was attempting to comfort itself by hugging herself, subconsciously trying to find comfort from physical contact.

The door to the element zero engine opened, and magos Nulin came in, his spidery legs striking the floor with a hard _clack_, every time the point struck the ground and he looked every bit like a spider coming in for its prey.

"Honoured archmagoss, I have humbly come to ssee your progresssion on the new enginess. Are they performing within expected parameterss?"

"Yes they are magos, it is most pleasing that you have accepted my invitation come to check on the progression of the engines. Do you wish to view the new operational capability yourself?"

"I would be delighted archmagoss, but I do have a query for you, if you would permit me the courtessy."

"Interrogative,what query would you like to ask?"

"I would like to assk that if you are finisshed with the xenoss that it be returned to my care, for proper sstudy," said Nulin, looming over Kiren with his spidery bulk, melachantrites extending from his robe. "I have been most expectant of the time when I would be allowed to continue my ressearch. Mosst expectant indeed," finished Nulin, looking as if he was going to devour the young quarian.

A low whirring sound came from within the depths of Ovidiu's robes as if he was processing a great deal of information and when he spoke it was a tone of utmost courtesy and extremely cordial.

"I am afraid that such an arrangement can not be made, for you see, Miss Kiren nar'Ghenguin is the only one besides myself who knows how to properly operate the new engine and she has yet some useful knowledge to pass on. Already she has made the engine operate .38% better than expected in my most hopeful calculations. So, it is with great regret that I must tell you that it can not be done."

A low hissing sound issued from Nulin's mandibles from within his robes and his eight eye sensors flashed a cherry red. I ssee. Thank you honoured archmagoss, I wissh you the besst of luck with thiss creature and itss work with the holy machiness of the Omnisssiah, meant only for the touch of the Mechanicuss."

"Are you insulting me magos?" asked Ovidiu, cocking his head quizzically to the side, red eyes glowing from the depths of his dark robe.

"Never archmagoss, merely wisshing you well," answered Nulin silkily.

"Then I must wish you a relaxing trip back to your laboratory," said Ovidiu, sending out a short burst of binary and waking the skitarri. Their weapons mounts unfurled and swivelled, and they stood tall on their spidery legs, turning towards magos Nulin.

"Ass, you wissh, honoured archmagoss," said Nulin, bowing nearly to the floor with the help of his long, spidery legs and then being escorted by the skitarri out of the enginarium.

Ovidiu watched the younger magos depart and did not alter his gaze until the door had shut, then he turned it upon the young quarian.

"My emotional responses are quite limited miss nar'Ghenguin, and I have lost most of my social interaction skills, but I can surmise that you do not wish to return with magos Nulin."

Kiren shook her head up and down, sniffles clearly heard from the speakers from her mask.

"I believe then that you require sleep now miss nar'Ghenguin, eight hours should be sufficient, yes? I am unsure of the physical needs and bio chemical processes of the quarian species. Perhaps when you recharge yourself you would not mind discussing the practical application of an element zero engine."

"Why...why are you doing this to me?" asked Kiren suddenly.

"Interrogative, I don't understand what you mean. Can you rephrase or explain in a different way?"

"Why are you stringing me along? I saw what...what your people were doing in there. I saw what was going to happen to me...what was happening to everyone else. Is this some kind of game, some kind of sick joke? You think that I can just go and sleep for a few hours and be okay? It's been almost a month and I hardly sleep, I hardly eat, and when I close my eyes, all I see is the inside of that lab and the people...oh kee'lah. You think that I want to keep talking about engines when I know what's going to happen to me once you damned machines don't find me useful anymore? Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with? Then cut me open and play with me all you want you sadistic fucks."

"Processing...processing," was all Ovidiu managed to say.

"I'm too tired of being tired, too tired of being scared, just get it over with." Low sobs, almost silent began to come from Kiren then and her shoulders shook with her silent grief.

Ovidiu made his way over silently with his still motion, appearing to be standing still, yet still advancing and stood over the quarian, before extending his bright and shiny augmetic arms, with lines of blessing and prayer to the Omnissiah, in letters and numbers inscribed into the very metal itself lining the limbs. His arms that could tear a man in two with minimal power slowly enclosed around the quarian, and squeezed, but gently. Ovidiu leaned in, mimicking a motion he had seen a thousand times, but never quite understood that others had used when they wished to comfort someone. It was then that a spark of emotion, long buried and nearly forgotten emerged. It was in that moment, it seemed that Ovidiu wished very much, to be flesh and blood again, to be human.

Xxx

"And I was the only survivor."

"I get a feeling that this is how a lot of your stories end, Massani," said Jane to the ageing mercenary as the skycab hummed through the air, with Miranda looking out the window bored and Jacob listening with avid interest to the wizened mercenary.

Omega didn't look too bad looking down on it from above. From up here you couldn't here the crackle of gunfire or smell the rotting garbage that lined the streets. You couldn't see the rust and decay, just the glitz and the glamour of the infamous pirate city that drew in tens of thousands of naive travellers and kids every year, all looking to make it big and make their mark, but just serving to prop up the ones already in power.

"Well in my line of work, things usually end up going to hell pretty quickly, especially when half of the people you work with are green as hell and stupid and the other half are willing to stab you in the back for a quick cred."

"I suppose so, never really had to work with mercenaries before, just fight them. For the most part they seemed competent enough, some were even pretty skilled, but they just weren't as bad as I thought that they would be," said Shepard.

"Well they're motivated by one thing and one thing only Shepard, money. They're hired muscle, they have a contract and they get paid a hell of a lot more than some grunt. The thing being though, is that they want to spend that money, so they're not going to take any extra risks like some little gun-ho college kid with a gun. All you need to do to break a merc unit is make it unprofitable for them to keep fighting. Well, that and show them that it's also quite unhealthy to keep fighting you. Have to be careful though, sometimes you get the ones who just love to fight, and those bastards will throw everything at you. Met a few like them, crazy fuckers, completely in it for the blood, could give a shit about the creds."

"Sound like fanatics," said Miranda.

"No, actually that's one thing I've never encountered. Never actually met any religious zealots who thought they were fighting for a god or some shit like that. I've Met crazy people yes, but never fanatics. Did I ever tell you about the time that..."

Zaeed launched into yet another one of his stories and Jane only half paid attention to what he was saying, looking more to the large group of mercs ahead, all clustered around their equipment and weapons in almost a rainbow hue of colours. Blue, white, red, black, yellow, and all the freelance mercs mixed in with them.

The aircar touched down softly, the G compensation system making the descent feel no worse than going down a mildly steep hill in a ground vehicle. There was a batarian waiting for Shepard and her team as she stepped out of the car, and he looked fairly bored.

"Standard payment of five-hundred credits will be deposited into your account upon successful completion of your contract. If you die, you won't get paid and your friends don't get your share of the money, or any other named beneficiary. Any questions?"

"Where do I go?"

"Up the stairs to where the other freelancers are. You'll get your orders once you get up there, now get going."

Shepard took the lead, walking up the steps and past groups of mercenaries prepping for the attack. The most numerous were the Blood Pact, the Eclipse, and the Blue Suns. Shepard stopped and talked to a few of the merc leaders and found out that this Archangel had been a very busy boy. He had killed the Eclipse leader's brother, hit everyone's shipments of red sand, guns, and even their banks. The Blood Pact leader seemed to just want to fight Archangel for the sake of fighting him, and the Blue Sun's leader seemed to just want to stop him.

"Hold up for a minute," said Zaeed, going up to a door which whooshed open. Inside was a Ymir mech in what looked like a large storage closet.

"Heh, just like Eclipse to leave their toys laying around," said Zaeed going up to it. "Bastards have money and toys, but they've go no goddamned discipline. Hell, is this was my crew I'd tear their asses apart for doing something this sloppy. Because someone could come along and do this," said Zaeed tappping on a keypad hooked up to the mech. He walked away casually a few moments later, grinning from ear to ear.

"What did you do exactly?" asked Miranda curiously, eyeing the mech.

"Let's just say that that Ymir isn't going to be nearly as useful as Eclipse thought it was going to be," said Zaeed, grinning for an instant, before his mouth went back to its usual hard line.

They fell quiet as they walked past a group of Blue Suns and finally made it up to the staging area. There was a large barricade and a couple of mercs taking pot shots over top of it, but for the most part just keeping their heads down. The bridge itself was littered with dead mercs and Jane had to run across the little gap between doorways even though they were a fair ways back from the barricade, just in case they were presenting a target.

The smell of grease, burning metal, and electronics was heavy in the air, due in large part to a gunship being worked on by another grumpy looking batarian. It also seemed to be the meeting point for all the freelance mercenaries.

"Okay, here's the plan," said Jane in a low whisper to the rest of her team, away from the other freelancers. "We follow them in, but we stay behind them, let them take the fire. Don't shoot at Archangel except to keep his head down and once we're out of sight of the barricade, take down the mercs and shoot them in the back. It's not dirty, it's how we're going to survive this and-"

"Oh my god, you're commander Shepard!" said a jubilant voice and Jane looked up in time to see a young woman with raven black hair, and bright blue eyes run up to her from the gaggle of mercenaries. If Jane could guess at the look in her eyes, it was somewhere between starstruck fangirl and complete adoration.

"I'm like your biggest fan! Oh my god, where have you been? Everyone's been saying you were dead, but I didn't believe it. I said that no one could kill commander Shepard and I was right! Where have you been anyways? On some secret assignment or-did you go freelance too!? Oh my god this is so awesome. I've wanted to meet you for so long and now I get to fight beside you!" The woman was smiling a large dopey smile ear to ear and looking at Shepard like she was the messiah.

"I'm Priscilla by the way, I was 18 when I saw what you did on the citadel and I tried to get a flight to the Citadel to see you, but it was all closed down and by the time I could, you were gone and then they said that you had died. I'm talking too much aren't I? Sorry, I get excited and then I talk and I don't let anyone else talk and, oh, can I get your autograph?"

"Uh, sure, you have a pen or," in a flash there was a picture of Shepard at the awards celebration at the citadel and a permanent marker.

"Can you make it out to Priscilla? No, to my number one fan Priscilla. No, from the first human spectre to Priscilla, my biggest fan."

Jane scrawled her name down and a generic message onto the photo before handing it back to the girl who actually squealed when she looked at it.

"Oh my god thank you, this would only be better if Garrus could sign it too. Do you know where he is or what he might be doing?"

"Look, I think that you had better get back to your group and get ready. When you getting ready for a mission, you've got to keep your head in the game and be ready to go," said Jane, wanting to get the girl out of her hair.

"Oh, okay. I'll be waiting for you when we go. I still can't believe it, I get to fight with commander Shepard," said the girl bubbling with excitement. Jane watched her go, hoping that she wouldn't have to shoot her.

"Cute tart. More air than sense in her head though," commented Massani dryly.

"Hey, new blood, get over here," said the batarian to Shepard.

"Well looks like it's show time," said Jane.

Xxx

"I believe that congratulations are in order, Mr.-"

"Se'Ductor. It's a pleasure to meet you, miss Aria T'loak," said Nyxos to the pirate queen of Omega. "I believe that I have something of a business proposition for you." A half grin made it's way onto Nyxos's face as he sat half shrouded in shadow.

AN: Sorry for the long delay, but I've recently finished school and have gotten a full time job, which gets me about 4 grand a month:) The next story that I'll be updating will be Living to Die, but I'll pick up my writing so that you guys won't have to wait too long. Drop a review and leave any ideas if you have any and tell me how you think the story's doing. Thanks for reading and I hope that you enjoyed it.


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